X 


No.  XXW 

THE      M  I  N  O  R     D  R  A  M  A 


ROBERT  MACAIRE; 

OR, 

<     THE    TWO     MURDERERS. 


^  iUdo- Drama 


IN    TWO    ACTS 


BY     CHARLES     SELBY,     COMEDIAN 


TtlTH  THE  STAGE  BUSINESS,  CAST  OF  CHAR 

ACTERS,  COSTUMES,  RELATIVE  POSITIONS 

ETC. 


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WILLIAM  TAYLOR  &  CO.^  No.  18  ANN-STREET. 

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THE      MINOR      DRAMA. 

No.  XXIV. 


ROBERT    MACAIRE: 

OR, 

THE   TWO  MURDERERS. 
.a  illelo-Elrama 

IN      TWO      ACTS. 

BY     CHARLES     SELBY,    Comedian. 


AI^O    THE    STAGE    BUSINESS,    CASTS   OF   CHARA0TEE5 
COSTUMES,  RELATIVE  POSITIONS.  ETC 


^'  E  W-YORK  : 
WILLIAM    TAYLOR    k     CO., 

No.  18  ANN-STREET. 


)> 


KDITORIAL    INTRODUCTION. 

Robert  Macaire  is  one  of  Mr.  Charles  Selby's  most  sdc- 
ccs;^ful  translations.  Its  adaptation  to  the  English  stage  is  efTec- 
tive  and  highly  dramatic.  Few  melo-draraas  have  been  more 
fre(iuently  performed,  or  gained  more  public  favour.  The  au- 
thor himself,  a  gentlemanly  and  accomplished  actor,  is  entirely 
conversant  with  "  stage  business,"  "  situations,"  and  "  effects," 
and  has  used  his  knowledge  to  the  best  advantage. 

Frederick  Lemaitre,  the  great  French  actor,  was  the  first, 
and,  with  the  exception  of  J.  Brown,  perhaps,  we  may  say  only 
finished  representative  of  the  dashing,  impudent,  but  still  gen- 
tlemanly thief.  Lemaitre  was  seconded  by  Vizantini  as  his 
nervous  companion,  in  a  manner  that  has  never  been  equalled. 
Upon  Lemaitre's  first  appearance  at  the  back  of  tbe  stage,  he 
looked  like  an  extraordinarily  well-dressed  man,  each  garment 
fitting  him  admirably,  and  it  was  not  till  he  approached  the  fc)r)t- 
lights  that  the  audience  discovered  the  coat  and  pantaloons  to  be 
one  mass  of  patches,  but  these  were  so  neatly  inserted  that  the 
character  of  the  once  dashing  Chevalier  d' Industrie  was  mani- 
fested by  the  attention  to  appearance  he  preserved  amid  all  vi- 
cissitudes. Vizantini's  costume  was  neat  and  clean,  though 
much  more  dilapidated  than  his  imperative  companion.  The 
way  these  parts  are  dressed  and  acted  at' most  of  our  theatres  is 
an  insult  to  the  audience,  and  an  outrage  on  the  common  sense 
of  the  author.  Would  such  unmitigated  ruffians  as  the  would- 
be  Roberts,  and  disgusting  bundles  of  rags  and  filth  as  the  con- 
temptible Jacques  Strops,  be  allowed  to  share  in  the  festivities 
given  on  the  occasion  of  the  betrothal  of  persons  of  affluence 
and  respectability  ?  The  thing  is  preposterous,  and  ought  to  be 
scouted  from  the  stage.  The  first  artists  who  avoid  these  fool- 
eries will  be  as  much  entitled  to  the  approbation  of  thinking  peo- 
ple, as  he  who  relieved  the  grave-digger  from  the  long  endured 
and  senseless  buffoonery  of  taking  otT  a  score  ,f  waistcoats. 


CAST     OF     CHARACTERfi. 


Covent  Garden,  1S43.  Ohtt^  Phil,  1847. 

Oermtvil,  (a  wealthy 

farmer) Mr.Tilbury.  Mr.  Charlee. 

Ihimont  (o7»  Innheep^ 

er) "    Griffith.  "     Wat«oa. 

Robert  Miieaire,  {un- 
der tke  assumed  name 

of  Redmojid) "    H,  Wallack.         "    J.  Browne. 

Jacquea  Strop  (under 

the  asmimcd  name  of 

Bertrand)  '    Vale.  "    Burton. 

Charles,  (ike  adopted 

son  of  Dumont) "    F.Webster.         "    Roberta. 

Pi/:rre,  (head  tcaiter)     "     Rogers.  *•     Owens. 

Sergeant  Loupy "     Harris.  "     Howard 

Louis "    Bannister.  "     Colvin. 

Francois '•     Collett.  "    Oakey. 

Marie Mrs.  W.  West.  Mrs.  KnighL 

CUiKentine Miss  Cross.  Miss  Colliglian. 

Gendarmes,  Itinerant  Muticiant,  ifC. 


Botetry,  ISfu 
Mr.  Forert. 
*<    Burgeaa. 

"    Stereni. 

"    H.  Chap  I 

•'  Bower*. 
"  Philips. 
•'     Dawes. 

"    Melville. 
Miss  Kirby. 
Mrs.  Forest. 


COSTUMES. 

ROBERT  MACAIRE.— Patched  preen  modern  body  with  very  long  tails,  short 
shabby,  red  tro-Asers,  (iirty  white  gaiters,  old  shoes,  striped  waistcoat,  ragged 
jihjrt,  very  lan?c  silk  pocket  handkerchief,  shabby  white  hat  with  black  crape 
round  it.     Old  dressing  gown  for  second  dress. 

JACQUES  STROP.— Patched  drab  coat,  dark  waistcoat,  striped  trowsers,  oid 
Wellington  hoots,  sliabby  black  hat.  Short  white  bed  gown  with  frills,  and  cIoM 
wl-.itc  night-cap  for  second  dress. 

DUMOXT. — Modern  black  coat,  black  brcechcii,  white  waistcoat,  white  cotton 
stockings. 

GERMEUIL. — Dove  coloured  old  man's  suit,  flowered  waistcoat,  white  stockioj^, 
drab  beaver  hat. 

PffiRRE. — French  blue  smock  frock,  tricoloured  belt,  white  trowsers,  blue  night- 
cap. 

WAITERS  &  PEASANTS.— Coats  and  breeches. 

LOUPY  &.  GENDARMES.— Blue  uniforms  faced  with  white,  cross  belts,  swords, 
caruines,  and  cocked  hats— all  exactly  alike. 

MARIE.— Blue  linsey-woolsey  petticoat,  large  French  apron  of  small  check,  brown 
cotton  jacket  with  long  sleeves,  red  cotton  handkerchief  over  the  jacket,  whita 
Norniau  cap,  covered  with  a  dark  blue  and  white  cotton  handkerchief,  dark  blue 
worsted  stockings,  thick  shoes. 

CLE.MENTINE.— White  mnslin  dress,  and  hat. 


EXITS  AND  KNTRANCES. 
R.  means  Right;     L.  Lefi:    R.  D.  Ri^kt  Door;    L.  D.  Left  Door; 
8.  E.  Second  Entrance;    U.  E.  Upper  EntruTice;    M.  D.  Middle  Door. 

RELATIVE  POSITIONS. 
R..  means  Rishl ;    L.,  Left,    C,  Centre;    P.  C.  Right  of  Centre, 
L.  C,  Left,  of  CriiLtf. 


ROBERT     MAC  AIRE. 


ACT     I. 

Scene  I. — The  Exterior  of  an  Auherge — a  wall,  or  rail- 
ing, with  gates  in  the  centre,  across  the  stage — over  the 
gates  a  Sign  Board,  on  which  is  painted,  •*  Auberge  des 
Adrets," — on  the  s.  and  l.  3d  e.,  the  House,  with  a  hush 
over  the  door,  and  a  hoard,  on  loliich  is  painted,  "  Ici 
on  vend  la  Bonne  Bierre  et  I'Eau  de  Vie."  "  Bon 
Logement,  a  Pied  et  a  Cheval."  On  the  l.  e.  f.  a 
door  leading  to  a  cellar — a  table  and  henches  under  a 
tree,  R.  u.  e. — a  plank  on  tuo  boards,  r.  e.  f.  The  high 
road  is  seen  in  the  back  ground,  the  whole  extent  of 
stage,  winding  over  a  bridge,  platforms,  Sfc.  Curtain 
ri^es  to  lively  music. 

Louis  and  W.*  iters  discovered  arranging  the  table,  Sfc. — 
Louis  has  a  basket  with  some  bottles  of  wine — he  takes 
the  cork  from  one  of  them,  and  is  drinking,  as  Pierre 
enters  from  the  house. 

Pierre.  Holloa  !  holloa  !  what  are  you  about  there  ? 

Louis.  [In  confusion,  hiding  the  bottle.]  Nothing. 

Pierre.  Nothing  !    Do  you  think  I  did  not  see  you  ? 

Louis.  Well,  if  you  did,  I'm  sure  I — 

Pierre.  [Blustering.]  Come,  come,  sir,  hold  your  tonguo 
— don't  try  to  excommunicate  yourself;  didn't  I  see  you 
take  this  bottle  out  of  the  basket  in  this  way  1  [Taking  it 
out.]  Didn't  you  pull  out  the  cork  in  this  way — and  then 
didn't  you  put  it  to  your  mouth  in  this  way  ;  [Taking  a 
long  draught.]  I'm  ashamed  of  you  :  see,  [Ttirning  down 
ihe  bottle,]  you've  emptied  it^  oh,  you  thief!  I'll  tell  mas'* 
t»r  ro  ^Lf^D  ii  out  of  yotir  wages.  Now.  «-way  \yii;'->  ^"-^ 
ir '.. '  1:1  h  -r.J.se,  and  «;t-t  every  thir-,r>  raaJy  belbro  I^Tr, «%.;,? . 
mt.i\\  afil  bis  daughter  arrive;  don't  stand  gaping  at  rne 


6  ROBERT    MACAIRE.  [Ad   1 

with  your  mouth  open,   and  your  hands  in   youi  pockets, 

but  go.   [Exeunt   Waiters   into  //o?ise.]     Idle  rnscals  !    [S't- 

ting   on    the  rahle,   n.,  and  eating  an  app-e,  loliich  he  pahs 

out  jyom  a  plateju%    whidi    has    he  en  placed  there   hy  the 

Waiters?^   They  think  of  nothing  but  eating  and  djinking. 

\Taking  a  cake  from  another  plate]   Always  stealing  tilings 

that  don't  belong   to  ihem,   and  feasting  at  master's  ex- 
es '  o 

pense. 

Enter  Dumont  and  Charles  from  the  house.  Pierre 
ju7nj)S  lip  from,  the  table,  pvts  the  rake  and  apple  into 
his  pocket,  and  pretends  to  he  very  busy,  arranging  the 
cloth,  dishes y  h^'c. 

JDtimont.  Well,  Pierre,  how  go  on  our  preparations  for 
the  wedding  fete  %      I  see  you  are  all  in  a  bustle. 

Pierre.  Yes,  sir,  I'm  obliged  to  do  every  thing  myself — 
can't  trust  Louis  and  the  other  waiters  ;  I'm  here,  there, 
and  every  where,  in  a  dozen   places  at  once. 

Dumont.  That's  right — see  that  nothing  is  wanting  fur 
the  entertainment  of  our  friends — I  wish  every  one  to 
be  as  happy  as  eating,  drinking,  and  dancirig  can  maki? 
them. 

Charles.  You  are  very  kind,  sir 

Pierre.  Why,  Mr.  Charles,  what's  the  matter?  one 
wouldn't  think  you  were  going  to  be  married,  you  look  so 
sorrcrwful  and  so  melancholy. 

Charles.  Oh,  no,   you  are  mistaken,  I  am  quite  merry, 

[  Sigh  ing. 

Pierre,  Are  you  ?  Well,  you've  a  very  odd  way  of 
showing  your  mirth.  Now.  master,  doesn't  Mr.  Charlrf 
look  very  unhappy  1 

Dumont.  He  does  ;  but   I    attribute  his   seriousness  t 
the  importance  of  the  engagement  he  is  about  to  contract 

Pierre.  Ah,  true — matrimony  is  a  very  serious  thing 
and  requires  a  deal  of  consideration — a  man  ought  to  bo 
sure  of  what  he  is  about — for  my  part,  I  thijik — 

Dumont.  You  are  gossipping  here  when  you  ought  to 
be  attending  to  your  work. 

Pierre.  You    are    right — I've    a    great    deal    to    do — I 
musn't  idle  my  time  hearing   you  tell  1' ng  stories — I'll  go 
.  r^  1 1^,..  .,^  ,^.^  wnil-vr.     Fl're,   L  ).!,- !   T  .u^.  -.  !  T. . . 
cuis  !    I'm  running,  you  rsacals.  [Exit  info  house. 


6cK!»K  I.]  ROBERT    MACAIRE.  7 

Duynont.  Vou  see,  Charles,  I  am  not  the  onlj  one  \%ho 
has  perceived  your  melancholy.  Clementine  will  soon 
be  here  ;  you  mustn't  let  her  see  you  look  so  niiserabje  on 
this  joyful  occasion. 

Charles.  Ah,  sir,  when  Mr.  Germeuil  knows  the  fatal 
secret  you  have  revealed  to  me,  will  he  then  consent  to 
my  marriage  with  his  daughter  ? 

Dumont.  Hope  for  the  best  ;  he  is  too  good  and  kind  a 
man  to  be  the  slave  of  prejudice ;  he  will  never  find  a 
better  son-in-law  ;  and  I  am  sure  is  too  anxious  for  the 
happiness  of  his  daughter,  lo  be  an  obstacle  to  your  union. 

Charles.  Oh,  that  1  could  think  so. 

[Noise  of  a  carriage  without,  r. 

Dumont.  Hark  !  Germeuil  and  Clementine  have  arri- 
ved.    Hollo  !   Pierre  !   Louis  !   Francois  !   quick,  quick  ! 

Pierre,  Louis,  and  Waiters  enter  from  house,  gooff,   r,, 
through  gates,  and  return  with  bundles,  hand-boxes,  Sfc. 

Charles.  A  few  moments  will  decide  my  fate. 

Enter  Germeuil  and  Clementine,  k. —  Germeuil  advan- 
ces to  the  front — shakes  haiids  with  Dumont — Charles 
goes  up  to  Clementine,  who  remains  with  him  at  the  back, 
"Pierre  runs  about,  loaded  with  bundles  and  band-boxes, 
which  he  lets  fall,  i^c. 

Ger.  Welcome,  old  friend — you  didn't  expect  me  so 
Boon,  I  dare  say — but,  you  know,  I'm  an  impatient  old 
fool — 1  like  to  settle  things  off-hand.  Clementine,  my 
love,  when  you  have  finished  the  disembark ment  of  your 
band-boxes,  perhaps  you  Will  notice  your  future  father-in- 
law. 

Cle.   With  pleasure.     How  do  you  do,  sir  1 

[^Shaking  hands  with  Dumont. 

Ger.  What  are  you  about  there,  Mr.  Charles — are  you 
waiting  for  permission  to  kiss  your  wife  ? 

CiKirles.  '{Coming  down,  \..\  Mr.  Germeuil,  the  title  of 
Clementine's  husband  is  the  most  preci<ius  to  which  my 
heart  aspires — but  honour  imperatively  forbids  1  should 
arcept  of  ir,  before  you  have  had  an  understHuding  with 
my  f'.ther.      You  will   then   decide,  if  you  th'ok   me  slill 


8  ROBERT    MACAIRE.  [Act  I. 

Dumont.  1  will  inform  you  while  Charles  assists  Cle- 
mentine to  aiTange  her  band-boxes. 

Clc.  That  is  to  say,  I  must  not  hear  your  conversation. 

Dumont.  Go,  my  love,  you  shall  soon  know  all. 

Cle.  Come,  Charles,  give  me  your  arm.  Papa,  don't 
let  Mr.  Dumont  detain  you  long.  Do  you  know,  Charles, 
I've  such  a  beautiful  new  lace  dress,  and  such  a  "  love" 
of  a  bonnet.    [Exit  Charles  and  Clementine  into  the  house, 

Ger.  Now,  friend  Dumont,  we  are  alone,  what  is  this 
seciet  to  which  Charles  seemed  to  attach  so  much  impor- 
tance 1 

Dumont.  One  on  which  his  happiness  or  misery  de- 
pends. The  disclosure  I  am  about  to  make  will  decide 
his  fate. 

Ger.  You  alarm  me.     Explain. 

Dumont.  Learn,  then,  my  friend,   that  Charles — is  not 
my  son  ! 
^      Ger.  What  say  you — not  your  son  1 

Dumont.  Nor  any  relation.  Listen.  Between  eighteen 
and  nineteen  years  ago,  seeing  a  crowd  collected  round 
the  door  of  an  inn,  a  few  miles  on  the  road  to  Grenoble, 
I  inquired  the  cause,  and  found  that  a  poor  woman  had 
left  a  new-born  infant  in  the  charge  of  the  Innkeeper,  and 
had  not  returned  to  claim  it.  I  looked  upon  the  unhappy 
.,  child,  (which  every  body  repulsed,)  and,  o'ercome  with 
pity  for  its  helplessness,  determined  to  adopt  it. 

Ger.  'Twas  kind — 'twas  noble  ! 

Dumont.  From  the  report  of  some  soldiers,  who  were 
in  pursuit  of  the  mother,  I  learned  that  she  had  been  im- 
prisoned at  Grenoble  (no  doubt  for  some  bad  action),  but 
had  found  means  to  elude  the  vigilance  of  her  keepei-s, 
and  escape. 

Ger.  What  became  of  her  1 

Dujmr)nt.  I  know  not — her  retreat  was  never  discovered, 

Ger.  And  you  had  no  trace — no  clue  ? 

Dumont.  None.    I  brought  up  Charles  as  my  own  child 

-and  have  never  regretted  an  act  of  charity,  by  which  I 
have  gained  the  best  of  sons,  and,  perhaps,  rescued  a  fel- 
low-creature from  crime  and  misery. 

Ger.    Does  rmv  oiio  know  tl:is  secret  ? 

<P^-.  Ti?  well— 'Pive  -^  -^  v^-^-  '  -'-y 


Scene  I.]  ROBERT    MACAIRE.  9 

Dumant.  What !  you  consent,  then,  to  Charles's  hap- 
piness ] 

Ger.  He  is  still  the  son  of  my  old  friend.  What !  shall 
1  punish  an  unfortunate  youth  for  the  faults  of  his  mo- 
ther ]  Shall  I  make  his  birth  a  crime  ?  No  !  Charles 
is  virtuous  and  honest  :  and  I  value  such  qualities  too 
much  to  refuse  to  acknowledge  and  esteem  their  possess- 
or, be  his  parents  ever  so  vile  or  worthless. 

Dumont.  Generous  man  !  I  never  doubted  the  goodness 
of  your  heait ;  but  this  last  act  of  kindness — Pshaw  !  it 
has  brought  the  tears  into  jay  eyes. 

Enter  Clementine  and  CnARLEsyrom  the  house. 

Cle.  All  is  safe,  father-in-law — every  thing  is  in  order — 
my -bonnets  have  not  been  crushed,  or  my  dresses  tumbled, 
have  they,  Charles  ? 

Ger.  [  To  Charles.]  Well,  young  gentleman,  what  say 
you  now  1 

Chas.  Say,  sir  1 

Ger.  Yes,  sir — will  you  kiss  your  wife  ? 

Chas.  Is  it  possible  ?     Am  I  to  be  so  happy  ? 

Ger.  To  be  sure.  Kiss  your  wife,  or  I'll  take  her  away 
from  you. 

Chas.  Clementine  !  \Emhracing  her.]  Oh,  sir,  my  gra- 
titude shall  equal  my  happiness. 

Ger.  [Shaking  him  by  the  hand.]  Say  no  more;  you 
are  a  good  lad,  and  I  am  proud  to  call  you  my  son. 

Dumont.  Now,  then,  let  us  think  of  our  little  fete. 
Charles,  go  ask  your  friends,  and  bring  them  here  imme- 
diatelv. 

Cle.  For  what? 

Dumont.  To  celebrate  your  marriage. 

Ger.  Indeed !  then  we  had  better  retire  and  aiTango 
our  dresses,  Clementine.  [  To  Charles.]  I  wish  your  wife 
and  father-in-law  to  do  you  honour. 

Cle.  Don't  be  absent  long,  Charles. 

Chas.  I'll  return  immediately,  dear  Clementine. 

[Exit,  through  spates,  r„ 

Ger.  Come,  old  friend,  show  me  to  my  chamber.  Cle- 
mentine, my  love,  this  is  the  happiest  (^y  I  have  known 
Tor  twenty  years.  ^Your  old  father  will  dance  at  your 
weddi»-^  as  nimbly  a-3  he  'lid  at  his  own.     La,  la»  la ! 


10  ROBERT    MACAIUE  [Act  . 

[Singing  and  da?icing.     Dumont,   Germeuil,  and  Clc' 
mentine  exit-  into  house. 

Redmond  and  Bertrand  aj^pear  at  the  extremity  of  th^i, 
road  ;  they  cross  the  bridge,  platforins,  Spc.  Redmond 
walks  boldly,  and  Bertrand  fearfully,  stopping  every  se- 
cond or  third  step  to  look  round.  Finding  Bertrand 
does  not  keep  up  with  him,  Redmond  impatiently  beck- 
ons him  forward,  and  when  he  is  within  his  reach,  seizes 
him  by  the  collar  and  shakes  him.  Both  stop  and  look 
at  the  house,  Bertrand  tries  to  return  back — Redmond 
holds  him,  and  insists  on  his  going  forward.  They  en- 
ter through  the  gates — their  dresses  arc  extreniely  shab- 
by, and  covered  loith  dust.  Redmond  has  a  black  hand- 
kerchief tied  over  ?iis  left  eye.  Bertrand  carries  a  bun- 
dle at  the  end  of  a  stick. 

Red.  Come  on,  comrade,  put  your  best  leg  foremost. 
Wliat  are  you  afraid  of?  We  are  out  of  danger  now, 
and  shall  soon  reach  the  frontier. 

Bcr.  The  sooner  the  better.  Oh,  my  poor  nerves ! 
they've  had  St.  Vitus's  Dance  ever  since  we  escaped 
from  the  prison  ;  those  devils  of  gendannes  cover  all  the 
country,  before,  behind,  and  right  and  left,  and  every 
whei-^.     Oh,  my  poor  nerves  ! 

Red.  Bah !  you  are  frightened  at  your  own  shadow, 
and  tremble  like  a  woman.  Why  the  deuce  don't  you 
leam  to  be  bold  and  impudent  1 

Ber.  Because  I  can't — I  always  was  nervous,  and  1 
can't  help  being  afraid.  Oh,  I  wish  I  had  half  your  im- 
pudence !  You  are  afraid  of  nothins^;  you  swagger  aiic^ 
bounce,  and  hold  up  your  head,  as  if  you  were  ihe  most 
honest  and  upnght  man  in  the  world. 

Red.  Well,  isn't  my  assurance  to  be  commended: 
Doesn't  it  get  us  out  of  all  our  scrapes  and  dangers  ? 
What's  the  use  of  being  a  thief  if  you  haven't  the  im])u- 
dence  of  the  devil,  and  the  manners  and  appearance  of  a 
gentlemen..  [Taking  snuff  and  using  handkerchief. 

Ber.  Ah,  that's  all  very  well,  but  I  don't  feel  comforta- 
ble— those  confounded  gendannes  will  be  sure  to  catch 
us,  I  k  low  they  will. 

RedL    Pshaw  !  we  have  nothing  to  feai 

BsT.  Haven't  \5  e,  though  1 


Scene  I.]  ROBERT    MACAIRT^.  1] 

Red.  This  bandage  secured  me  from  being  reiognizcd 
•—and  youiv pretending  to  be  silly,  prevents  you  from  be- 
ing suspected — besides,  haven't  we  our  passports  ? 

Ber.  Yes,  forged  ones.  I  tremble  like  a  steamboat 
whenever  v\'e  are  obliged  to  show  them.  Oh,  my  poor 
nen'es  !  These  gendaimes  always  examine  us  with  an 
attention  that  sadly  troubles  a  dirty  conscience.  I  can't 
bear  them — the  sight  of  one  of  their  cocked  hats  is 
enough  to  set  my  poor  nerves  all  on  the  dance,  and  make 
me  sink  into  my  boots  with  fear. 

Red.  Well,  well,  we  shall  soon  be  beyond  theii  reach ; 
but  a  few  leagues  further,  and  we  shall  be  in  Piedmont. 

.  Ber.  I  wish  we  were  there  now — we   shall  never  be 
safe  till  we  are  out  of  danger. 

Red,  This  is  the  inn  I  told  you  of;  we  will  stop  here 
awhile,  and  refresh. 

Ber.  No,  no,  no  !  let  us  go  on — 'tis  too  near  the  road. 
Who  knov/s  but  some  gendarmes  may  be  there.  Let  us 
go  on.  [  Trying  to  go. 

Red.  [Stopping  him.]  No!  I  won't  stir  till  I've  had 
something  to  eat  and  a  bottle  of  wine.  [Striking  table 
with  his  stick.]  Hollo  !  waiter !  house  !  landlord !  every 
body ! 

Ber.  Oh,  my  poor  nerves  !  We  shall  be  sure  to  get 
into  a  scrape.     Oh,  curse  your  impudence  ! 

Red.  Do  as  I  do,  sir,  make  the  people  believe  you  are 
silly. 

Ber.  That  won't  be  very  difficult,  if  I  do  as  you  do. 
Oh,  my  poor  ner\-es  !  [Striking  the  table  with  his  stick, 
in  imitation  of  Redmond,  and  pretending  to  be  sidy.]  PIol- 
lo  !  hollo  !  hollo  !  waiter  !  house  !  landlord  !  landlady  ! 
cliambermaid  !  housemaid  I  barmaid!   any  maid  !  hollo! 

Enter  PiERREyrow  house. 

Pierre.  Who  calls  1  Hollo  !  [Seeing  them.]  "WTiat's  y-mr 
pleasure,  gentlemen  1 

Red.  Bring  us  some  refreshment. 

Pierre.  [Staring  at  them.]   Sir? 

Red.  [  Taking  S7iuf  and  flourishing  handkerchief.]  Brmg 
us  some  refreshment. 

Ber.  [Taking"  snuff  from  Redmond's  box,  and  pulling 
imi  a  small  torn  handkerchief  uhich  he  flourishes  in  imiuir 


12  lOBERT    MACAIRE.  [ACT  I. 

tion.].Yes,  bring  us  somo  refreshment,  and  something  to 
eat ! 

Pierre.  Refreshment ! — something  to  eat ! 

Ber.  Yes — bring  us  some  peck. 

Pierre.  Peck  !     What  does  the  gentleman  mean,  sir? 

[To  Red?/? and. 

Red.  My  noble  friend,  means  refreshment.  Peck  is  the 
fashionable  word  made  use  of  in  the  high  society  we  hav« 
been  accustomed  to  associate  with. 

[Pulling  up  his  collar  and  swaggering. 

Pierre.  Indeed  !  [Aside.]  They  are  a  pair  of  beauties 
for  high  society. — What  v/ill  you  take,  gentlemen  1 

Red.  What  have  you  in  the  house  ? 

Pierre.  Every  thing. 

Red.  Then  bring  us — 

Ber.  Some  bread  and  cheese  1 

Pierre.  Bread  and  cheese  ? 

Ber.  Yes,  and  an  ingun. 

Red.  [Flourislmig  his  stick.]  Don't  you  hear,  fellow, 
some  bread  and  cheese,  an  ingun  for  my  noble  fiiend ;  the 
latter  is  a  vegetable  I  never  patronize,  for  the  ladies  have 
an  objection  to  it. 

Pierre.  Beg  pardon — but  we  are  very  busy  within,  pre- 
paring for  a  wedding ;  so,  if  you  have  no  objection,  I'll 
serve  you  your  refreshment  under  that  tree ;  you'll  be 
very  comfortable,  and  enjoy  the  fi-esh  air. 

Ber.  So  we  can — and  it  won't  do  us  any  harm,  for  it's 
a  long  time  since  we  have  tasted  it. 

[Red??iond  strikes  him  on  the  legs  ^vith  his  stick,  and 
then  crosses,  jlmirishing  it  to  Pierre,  who  looks  as- 
to7?ished.      Bertrand  seats  hitnself  at  tahh. 

Red.  What  the  devil  are  you  staring  at  ?  Bring  the 
refreshment. 

Pierre.  Directly,  sir. — [Aside.]  These  are  the  queerest 
customers  we've  had  for  a  long  time.      [Exit  into  house. 

Red.  [Looking  round.]  I  see  the  place  is  arranged  for 
a  fete  ;  so  much  the  better — 'twill  enliven  us;  I'm  very 
fond  of  marriages. 

Ber.  [At  the  table.]   Then  why  don't  you  get  manied  ? 

Red.  I  am  raanied. 

Ber.  Indeed!  why  you  never  told  me  that.  [Coming 
down.}  Whero  is  your  wife  ? 


ScESlt     J  ROBERT    MACAIRE.  13 

Red.  I  don  t  know  !  'tis  eighteen  or  nineteen  years 
since  I  left  her,  to  avoid  the  pursuit  of  certain  gentlemen 
with  cocked  hats  and  long  swords. 

Ber.  Ah  !  gendarmes.  Don't  you  know  what  became 
of  her  ? 

Red.  Eh  1  [Lost  for  a  moment  in  thought.]  No,  I  never 
inquired. 

Pierre  enters — removes  the  ajyples  and  cakes — then  re- 
turns with  the  bread  and  cheesCy  and  a  bottle  of  wine, 
looks  at  Bej-trand' s  bundle,  which  he  has  hft  on  the  ta- 
ble— takes  it  up  with  the  tops  of  his  finger  and  thumb, 
and  puts  it  on  the  ground. 

Ber.  Perhaps  she  has  made  her  way  in  the  world  in 
the  same  manner  as  yourself;  by  mvoluntai-y  contribu- 
tions. 

Ber.  No,  I  think  not ;  she  was  one  of  those  persons 
who  had,  what  prejudiced  people  would  call,  good  princi- 
ples and  honesty. 

Ber.  Ah,  those  things  we  know  nothing  about. 

Red.  Scrupulous  on  the  points  of  virtue  and  respecta- 
bility. 

Ber.  I  never  hesf  J  of  suck  nonsense. 

Red.  Preferring  hard  work  and  misery  to  employing 
our  little  methods  of  making  money  ;  in  fact,  she  was  a 
poor,  weak-minded,  moral,  industrious,  virtuous  individual. 

Ber.  My  dear  friend,  what  bad  company  you  must  have 
been  in  to  meet  with  such  a  woman.  Where  could  you 
have  picked  her  up  1 

Pierre.  [Coming  behind  Bertrand,  and  slapping  him  on 
the  shoulder. \  Yonvpeck  is  ready,  sir. 

Ber.  [Starting  across,  in  great  alarm,  to  l.]  Eh?  oh, 
lord  !   I'm  not  the  man  ! 

Pierre.  What's  the  matter,  sir  1 

Ber.  Devil  take  him — how  he  frightened  me.  Oh,  my 
poor  nerves  !     I  thought  it  was  a  gendarme. 

Red.   [Aside.]  You  fool,  you'll  iiiin  us. 

[Kicks  him,  then,  goes  up,  flourishing  his  stick — he 
seats  himself  at  the  table,  takes  of  his  hat,  places  it 
on  the  top  of  his  stick — it  goes  through  the  croum — 
rustic  m2isic  is  heard  without — Redmond  takes  a 
comb  from  his  pocket,  and  arranges  his  hair  and 
whiskers. 


14  ROSEUT    MACAIRE.  [Act  I 

Piirre.  [Lool<'nig  oiU.']  Ah,  liere  they  ccme  !  [Bertrand, 
alnriried,  tries  to  rise — Redmond  -prevents  him.]  Here's  jNIr. 
Charles  and  the  Villagers.  [Calling  at  house\  Mr.  Ger- 
meuil !  master !  Miss  Clementine  !  make  haste — here  is 
Mr.  Charles  ami  his  friends.  \Music.. 

Enter  Charles  and  Villagers  through  gates — Dusiont, 
Germeuil,  and  Clementine,  from  house. 

Dmnont.  Welcome,  welcome,  fi'iends — you  see  we  ex- 
pected you.  Come  into  the  house — you'll  find  plenty  to 
eat  and  drink,  and  then  we'll  finish  the  fete  with  a  dauce. 
Come,  fj'iends. 

Chas.  Stay,  stay  !  a  poor  woman  has  fallen  down  in 
the  road  there ;  come,  some  of  you,  and  help  me  to  as- 
sist her.  [Music. — Exeunt  Charles,  Pierre,  ^v. 

Ger.  Poor  creature !  how  wretched  and  miserable  she 
seems.  [Charles,  Pierre,  and  Villagers  bring  on  Marie, 
and  place  her  in  a  chair. 

Clc.  Let  me  assist  her. 

Dumoyit.  PieiTe,  some  wine — some  wine.  [  They  give 
Marie  wine — she  slowly  recovers,  and  looks  around— Red- 
mond,  who  has  mingled  with  the  Villagers,  on  seeing  her 
face,  starts,  takes  Bertrand  by  the  arm,  a?id  goes  ojf  with 
him,  R.  3^  E. 

Chas.  How  do  you  feel  rtow  ? 

Marie.  Better,  much  better ;  thanks,  kind  fiiends,  thank* 
— your  assistance  was  very  needful,  for  I  have  not  tasted 
food  since  yesterday  moraing. 

Cle.  Poor  creature  ! 

Dumont.  You  are  not  of  this  country  ? 

Marie.  No,  sir. 

Dumont.  You  have  come  from  some  distance  ? 

Marie.  Yes,  sir,  from  Italy ;  I  am  going  to  Mount  Me- 
lian,  to  seek  employment. 

Dumont.  You  have  friends  or  family  there  ? 

Marie.  Alas,  I  have  no  family ;  I  have  no  fiiends  eithe^i 
— for  I  am  poor  and  miserable.  Yet  I  once  had  children 
— husband — parents,  and  friends.  1  was  once  affluent  and 
happy  ;  but  misfortune's  withering  breath  has  blown  upon 
me,  and  I  am  left  a  poor,  lone  woman — worn  down  witli 
gorrow,  want,  and  sickness,  without  a  roof  to  shelter  me, 
or  the  means  of  buying  braad 


fiCEWE  I.]  ROBERT    MACAIRE.  15 

Ger.  This  poor  woman  interests  me. 

Pierre.   [Crying.]  And  me  too. 

Mai'ie.  [Rising.]  Pardon  me,  kind  friends,  I  perceive 
my  presence  throws  a  damp  on  your  pleasures,  i  am 
better  now;  I  will  continue  my  journey. 

Ger.  No,  no,  impossible  ;  in  your  weak  state  'twould 
be  dangerous — you  shall  sleep  here  to-night ;  that  is,  if 
my  friend  Dumont  has  no  objection. 

Dumont.  Objection  !  How  could  you  think  of  such  a 
thing?  You  shall  stay,  my  good  woman,  and  have  a 
comfortable  supper,  and  breakfast,  too.  PieiTC,  take  her 
in,  and  see  that  she  wants  for  nothing. 

Marie.  Oh,  kind  gentlemen,  may  Heaven  reward  you. 
[Exit  into  house,  with  Pierre. 

Dumont.  Now,  friends,  follow  me.  Let  us  attack  the 
eatables  and  drinkables.  [Exeunt  Dumont,  Clementine, 
Germeuil,  Charles,  and  Villagers,  into  the  house. 

Enter  Redmond  and  Bertrand,  r.  StZ  e.  Redmond 
looks  info  the  house,  seems  thoughtful  and  uneasy — 
takes  the  stage  several  times  with  hurried  ste-ps. 

Bcr.  Hollo !  what's  the  matter  with  you  ?  What  do 
you  go  through  all  those  revolutions  for  ?  [Imitating. 

Red.  Nothing — no  matter — never  mind. 

Ber.  But  I  do  mind;  I  say,  you  are  not  pretending  to 
be  silly,  are  you  1 

Red.  Bah  !  [To  himself,  half  aside.]  No,  no,  impossible 
— it  cannot  be — she  could  not — no,  no — ^yes.  I  should 
like  to  be  sure. 

Ber.  So  should  I. 

Red.  [  Turning.]  Of  what  1 

Ber.  That  the  gendaiTnes  are  not  following  us. 

Red.  Fool !  some  one  is  coming ;  sit  down. 

[Forces  Bertrand  to  sit  doion, 

Ber.  Oh,  my  poor  nerves  ! 

Enter  Germeuil  and  Dvmont  from  house. 

Ger.  Now,  friend  Dumont,  if  you  can  spare  a  moment 
from  your  fi'iends,  let  us  talk  over  a  little  business — I  want 
to  settle  every  thing  off-hand.  Now,  in  the  first  place,  I 
intend  to  give  Charles  twelve  thousand  francs,  as  Clemen- 
tine's wedding  portion. 


16  ROBERT    MACAIRE.  [Act  1 

Red.  '[Aside.]  Twelve  thousand  francs  !  that's  a  pi"etty 
sum. 

Ber.  [Aside.]  Very  tidy. 

Dmnont.  Very  hberal,  indeed.  I'll  give  up  my  house 
to  Charles  during  my  life,  and  settle  all  I  am  worth  upon 
him  at  my  death. 

Ger.  Very  well — your  hand — the  affair  is  settled.  Now 
I  wish  you  would  take  charge  of  the  twelve  thousand 
francs  for  Charles ;  here  they  are,  in  this  pocket  book,  in 
good  bank  notes.  [Opening  hook. 

Red.  [Aside  to  Bertrand.]   Do  you  hear  ? 

Ber.  Yes,  and  see  too. 

Dumo7it.  No,  no,  you  had  better  keep  them,  and  pre- 
sent them  to  him  yourself,  to-moiTOW. 

Ger.  Nay,  I'd  rather  you  took  charge  of  them — this 
confounded  book  is  troublesome  to  me  ;  I'm  afraid  of  los- 

Red.  [Aside.]  We'll  take  care  of  it  for  him. 


Ber.  [Aside.]   Certainly — it  would  be  no  trouble  to  us. 
Ger.  Nay,  nay,  I  wish  to  get  rid  of  it ; — oblige  me  ?• 
Red.  [Aside.]  Do  you — I'll  oblige  you  presently — you 
shan't  be  troubled  with  it  much  longer. 

Enter  Pierre  from  the  house. 

Pierre.  Master,  will  you  give  me  the  bunch  of  dupli- 
cate keys — I  want  to  get  the  bed-rooms  ready.  [Dummit 
gives  a  hunch  of  Acy^.J  Where  do  you  mean  to  put  Mr. 
Germeuil  ? 

Duraont.  In  No.  13 — that's  the  best  room  in  the  house. 

Pierre.  And  the  poor  woman — where  shall  she  sleep  ? 

Dumont.  You  may  put  her  into  No.  12. 

Pierre.  Very  well.  Beg  pardon,  gentlemen,  you'd 
better  come  in,  or  you'll  not  get  a  morsel  of  the  goose 
pie.  [Exit. 

Dmnojit.  Come,  friend  Germeuil,  now  you've  settled 
your  business,  come  in. 

Ger.  I'll  follow  you  in  a  few  minutes — I  wish  to  speak 
with  that  poor  woman.  Will  you  request  her  to  come  to 
me. 

Dumont.  Certainly — don't  let  her  detain  you  long. 

[Exit  into  house. 

Hed,  [  To  Berti  imd.]  Folio vy  me^  and  Bold  your  ton^e. 


8cE5E  I.]  ROBERT    MACAIRE.  17 

[  They  steal  across  the  stage  on  tip-toty  and  g ;  into  the 
I'ouse. 
Ger.   Yes,   the   young  folks  will  want  an  honest,  trust- 
worthy person.     I'll   see   if  this  woman  will  suit  them — 
she   seems   a   steady,  middle-aged,   sensible  person.     I'll 
question  her. 

Enter  Marie  Jrom  house. 

Come  here,  my  dear  woman,  I  wish  to  say  a  word  to  you. 

Marie.  I  am  at  your  orders,  sir. 

Ger.  What  is  your  name  ? 

Marie.  INIane. 

Ger.  I  perceive  by  your  manners  and  language,  that 
you  were  not  always  in  the  forlorn  condition  you  are  in 
at  present.     Ma.y  I  ask  your  history  1 

Marie.  Ah,  sir,  spare  me  the  recital ! — do  not  increase 
my  misery  by  making  me  recall  misfortunes  and  wrongs 
I  hiive  endeavoured  to  lose  the  recollection  of 

Gtr.  1  wish  not  to  distress  you — mine  is  not  an  idle 
curiosity.     You  have  been  married  1 

Marie.  Alas  !  yes,  sir, 

Ger.  I»  your  husband  living  1     % 

Marie.  I  know  not,  sir.  He  [  Weeping,]  deserted  mo 
m-any  years  ago. 

Ger.  You  have  had  a  family  1 

Marie.  I  had  a  son — ^but  I — [Sobbing,]  I  lost  him,  sir— 
and  have  never  known  a  moment's  happiness  since. 

Ger.  Come,  come,  be  consoled — ^heaven  may  send  you 
some  relief. 

Marie.  Ah,  sir,  my  sorrows  are  irreparable. 

Ger.  Not  so;  they  may  be  alleviated  by  honoui-able 
conduct,  and  the  esteem  of  good  and  honest  people. 

Marie  [  Weejnng].  Alas  ! 

Ger.  My  words  appear  to  distress  you.  Can  you  be 
guilty  ? 

Marie.  [  Wildly.]  Guilty — oh,  no,  no !  think  not  so,  I 
implore  you ;  I  am  innocent ;  I  call  Heaven  to  witness 
that  I  am. 

Ger.  [Astonished  at  her  vehemence.]  Innocent  !  What 
woii^d  vou  say  1     Do  you   mean  that  you  have  been  fic- 


18  ROBERT    MACAIRF.. 


l^cT 


Ger.  Explain  yourself. 

Marie.  Excuse  me,  sir,  I  cannot. 

Ger.  Speak  without  fear,  I  am  your  fiiend.  You  are 
silent — [Severely,] — then  I  have  nothing  more  to  say  to 
you  ;  [Going,]  yet  you  are  unfortunate,  and  have  a  claim 
on  my  pity.  Take  this  purse — it  contains  some  money, 
and  may  suffice  for  your  present  wants. 

Marie.  [  Weeping,]  Am  I  sunk  so  low  ?  No,  sir,  I  am 
poor,  I  know — your  charity  has  already  relieved  me.  I 
thank  you  for  it — but  I  am  not  a  beggar,  nor  am  I  the 
guilty  wretch  you  think  me — keep  your  purse,  sir,  I'd 
rather  work  these  fingers  to  the  bone — I'd  rather  stance 
than  accept  the  bounty  of  a  stranger,  who  believes  me  to 
be  worthless  and  ungrateful.  [Going. 

Ger.  Where  are  you  going  1 

Marie.  I  know  not.  Heaven,  who  reads  all  hearts,  and 
knows  if  I  have  deserved  my  misfortunes,  will  not  aban- 
don me. 

Ger.  Stay,  stay,  I  request — I  have  been  too  harsh ;  I 
am  sorry  I  have  given  you  pain.  It  is  in  my  power  to  al- 
leviate your  sorrows.  When  you  think  proper  to  teli  mc 
your  hiotory,  I  will  be  more  explicit.  In  the  mean  time, 
I  request  you  will  keep  this — [Presenting  purse,] — not  as 
an  aim?,,  but  as  a  pledge  of  the  sincere  interest  I  take  in 
your  we^lfare.     Nay,  I  insist. 

Marie.  I  obey,  sir.  [Taking purse.]  I  Vv'ill  see  you  to- 
morrow— and,  if  I  have  strength  of  mind  sufficient,  will 
tell  you  the  melancholy  history  of  my  misfortunes. 

[Exit  into  house. 

Ger.  Poor  creature ;  she  has  deeply  interested  me,  and 

I  feel  'twould  be  an  act  of  real  charity  to  befriend  her. 

[He  is  about  to  enter  the  house,  but  is  met  by  Bertrand 

and  Redmond — Redmond  hows   to  him   with  great 

ceremony,  makes   way  for  him,   and,  as  he  passes, 

steals  his  pocket  handkerchief. 

Red.  Your  most  obedient.  A  very  respectable  okl 
gentleman,  that.  [Looking  at  the  handkerchief]  I  wish 
he  would  wear  silk  pocket  hajidkerchiefs,  though — cotton 
ones  are  not  worth  taking — except  for  amusement,  or  to 
keep  one's  hand  in.  [Putting  it  in  his  pocket. 

Uj-_j.      -.'.ell,   now  Vr'o  arc-  :.loiio,    i^erlrjr.:^  voa'i]  h£.ve  tho 


ScENr  /.]  ROBERT    MACAIRE.  lO 

kindness  to  explain  your  conduct.  What  do  you  mean  by 
ordering  a  bed  I  Is  it  your  intention  to  stay  here  to- 
night ? 

Red.  It  is. 

Bcr.  Oh,  you  fool — your  confounded  impudence  will  be 
tmr  ruin — we  shall  be  sure  to  be  discovered.  Oh,  my 
poor  nerves ! 

Red.  Listen.  Have  you  courage  to  second  me  in  a  pe- 
rilous enterprise  ? 

Ber.  A  perilous  entei'prise  ? — that's  as  it  may  happen. 
My  courage  is  so  shakey,  I  can't  answer  for  it. 

Red.  What  say  you  to  appropriating  to  ourselves  the 
twelve  thousand  francs  ? 

Ber.  Oh,  oh,  I  see  you  want  to  keep  your  hand  in.  I 
don't  care,  provided  there  is  no  danger. 

Red.  You  saw  the  bunch  of  duplicate  keys  for  all  the 
rooms  in  the  inn. 

Ber.  Yes. 

Red.  That  of  Mr.  Germeuil's  chamber  ought  to  be 
there. 

Ber.  Certainly. 

Red.  We  must  get  possession  of  it. 

Ber.  Well,  what  then  ? 

Red.  We  will  let  ourselves  into  his  room,  while  lie  is 
asleep,  and  the  twelve  thousand  francs  will  be  ours,  [Giv- 
ing liim  a  bloiv  on  the  stomach.^   That's  the  way  to  do  it. 

Ber.  Is  it.  I  wish  you'd  keep  your  hands  to  yourself — 
you've  hit  me  in  the  wind.  But  I  say,  suppose,  now,  by 
accident,  he  should  happen  to  wake,  there'd  be  a  pretty 
kettle  offish — he'd  alami  the  house — we  would  be  taken, 
and,  oh,  lord,  my  poor  nerves  ! — don't  let  us  think  of  it. 

Red.  Bah  !  you  are  always  afraid — I'll  take  care  we 
are  not  discovered.  Hush  !  here  comes  the  waiter — 1 
must  get  the  bunch  of  keys.  Mind  what  you  are  about — 
be  ready  to  assist  me. 

Enter  Pierre y/-6»7«  hoTiRe. 

Red.  Hollo,  waiter  !  will  our  room  soon  be  ready  ? 
Ber.  Ah  !  will  our  room  soon  be  ready,  Mr.  Waiter? 
Pierre.  Do  not  be  impatient,  gentlemen — it's  very  ear- 
ly vet — vou  can't  want  to  0;o  to  bed — there's  e-ointr  to  \m* 

.  '...  .\-  :.....  :>■.  ?u^..s  oi  i'^.\  ouc  iiare  pic>i';.ui.^.  ..  ..,,  . 
alt^nd  to  vou  fur  .son.'e  tifLcJ. 


20  ROBERT    xMACAIfE.  [ACT  f. 

[Going  to  cellar  door,  and  putting  a  Icty  into  the  lock 

Red.  [To  Bertrand.]  Engage  him  in  conversation  for  a 
minute  or  two. 

Ber.  1  will.  I  say,  Mr.  Waiter,  what  are  you  doing 
there  ? 

Pierre.  Eh?  [Turning  round.]  Why,  I'm  going  into 
the  cellar  to  fill  this  basket  with  wine  for  the  guests. 

Ber.  Fill  that  basket  with  wine — won't  it  run  out  ? 

Pierre.  [Aside.]  Ha,  ha,  ha!  this  fellow  is  silly — I'll 
have  a  game  with  him. — Oh,  no,  it  won't — don't  you  see, 
[Showing  the  basket,]  the  bottom  is  water-proof? 

[As  he  turns  to  show  the  basket  to  Bertrand,  Redmond 
takes  the  key  out  of  the  door. 

Ber.  Ah,  dear  me — so  it  is — how  wonderful ! 

Pierre.  [Aside.]  Ha,  ha,  ha !  he's  the  softest  chap  I 
ever  met  with — I'll  make  him  believe  the  moon  is  made 
of  gieen  cheese  presently.  [Going  to  door.]  Hollo,  the 
key  is  gone  !     Who  the  devil  has  taken  it  1 

Red.  What's  the  matter,  young  man  ? 

Pierre.  I've  lost  a  key. 

Red.  Indeed  !  has  any  body  stolen  it? 

Pierre.  Stolen  it  1  nonsense — there  are  no  thieves  here. 

Ber.  [Aside.]  Am't  there,  though  1 

Red.  [Kicking  him.]  Be  quiet,  you  fool. — I  should  hope 
not,  young  man — for  I  make  it  a  rule  never  to  stop  in  any 
place  where  a  robbery  has  been  committed ;  and  if  you 
think  you  have  thieves  about  the  premises  I  shall  go. 

Ber.  So  shall  I. 

Pierre.  Oh,  no,  sir,  don't  be  alarmed,  I  shall  find  the 
key  presently — I  havn't  time  to  look  for  it  now,  so  I'll  get 
the  duplicate,  which  I  have  on  a  bunch  in- doors.  We 
are  all  honest  people  here,  sir.  [Exit  into  house. 

Red.  All's  right — we  shall  get  it — ^he  has  gone  for  the 
bunch. 

Ber.  Don't  forget  No.  13. 

Red.  Hush,  he  is  here  !— don't  seem  to  notice  him. 
Sing. 

Enter  Pierre — Redmond  and  Bertrand  sing  together  a 
verse  of  a  popular  song  in  Burlesque  Opera  style, 

^' ^ -     V^-•«»Tr^  I       WU^y     «rrtritlf«Tn*»n     von    «inor   % 


Scene  I]  ROBERT    MACAIRE.  21 

Red.  Why,  yes,  we  do  sing  a  little — they  knew  -is  at 
the  opera. 

Ber.  [Aside.]  I  believe  they  do— in  the  pickpocket  line. 

Pierre.  [Looking  on  the  hunch.]  Key  of  cellar — this  is 
it — [Taking-  it  off,  and  leaving  bunch  on  chair,  l.]  Now 
for  it.  [Opening  door  of  the  cellar,  and  going  in.  Redmond 
takes  tip  the  hunch  and  searches  for  the  key — Bertrand  as- 
sists him. 

Red.  No.  10,  11,  12,  13. 

Ber.  That's  it — take  it  off. 

Red.  Confound  it — I  can't.  [Trying  to  get  it  off. 

Pierre.   [  Within.]  I've  got  the  wine. 

Ber.  Make  haste — make  haste — oh,  my  poor  nerves. 

Red.  I  have  it.  [Taking  off  key  and  putting  it  in  his 
pocKct  as  Pierre  enters  loith  wine.  He  tun^s  to  lock  cellar 
door. 

Pierre.  I  wonder  what  became  of  that  key  ? 

Ber.  I  know — I  found  it  down  by  the  door,  when  you 
went  in — there  it  is.  [Giving  it. 

Pierre.  Now,  that's  very  odd — I  looked  so  carefully  for 
it;  I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you.  [Going  towards  house. 

Red.  Oh,  you  are  very  welcome.  Havn't  you  forgot 
something,  young  man  ? 

Pierre.  Not  that  I  know  of. 

Red.  [Pointing  to  chair.]  Isn't  that  your  bunch  of 
keys  1 

Pierre.  [Going  to  the  chair,  and  taking  hunch.]  Oh, 
what  a  fool  I  am — I  don't  know  what  I'm  about — I  shall 
lose  my  head  some  day.  [As  he  turns  to  enter  house,  Red- 
mond takes  a  fill  hottle  out  of  his  hasket,  and  puts  in  an 
empty  one]  Thank  you,  sir — I'm  very  much  obliged  to 
you.  [Exit  into  house. 

Red.  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  well  done  us — I  declare  I  never  did 
any  thing  better  since  I  have  been  in  the  profession.  Now, 
then,  we  must  wait  patiently  till  every  body  in  the  house 
is  asleep — enter  the  room — take  the  pocket-book,  and 
make  our  escape. 

Dujnont.  [  Within.]  Come  along,  friends.  Now,  then, 
for  the  dance. 

Red.  Hark,  they  are  coming  here  ! — let  us  mix  with 
the  villagers  and  join  in  the  dance — 'twill  prevent  suspi- 
cion 


22  UOBKRr    MACAlliF.  [Act  I. 

Ente-  DuMONT,  Germeuil,  Charles,  Cle.miwtine, 
Pierre,  Louis,  Waiters,  and  Yihi.AiiT.v.s,  from  House. 
Decasse,  Pettitoe,  and  Gros  Jean,  tvith  their  Jnstni- 
inents,  enter  through  gates. 

Dumont.  Now,  then,  my  lads  and  lasses,  take  your  part 
ners  and  foot  it  merrily. 

[Pierre  jyJaces  the  Musicians  on  the  bench. —  The  Lea- 
der rosi?is  his  how,  taps  to  begin,  Sfc.  Bertravd 
j^eats  himself  in  \,.  corner,  with  a  bottle  and  glass. 
A  Pas  Seul,  or  Pas  de  Deux — then  a  Quadrille  is 

formed.  Redmond,  asks  a  Lady  (the  frincipal  dan- 
cer)  to  dance  loith  him — she  refuses,  not  liking  his 
appearance — 7ie  takes  out  his  snvff-hox,  Jlourishes 
his  handkerchief,  and  at  last  persuades  her  to  be  his 
partner.  He  leads  his  Lady  forward,  boxes  with 
great  ceremony  to  every  one,  takes  his  place  in  the 

front,  and  dances  in  burlesque  imitation  of  the  Ojye- 
ra  style.  A  Quadrille  of  sixteen,  in  two  lines,  by  all 
the  Characters  and  the  Corps  de  Ballet. 

Figure. 

Both  sides  meet  in  the  centre,  and  return  to  places. 

Ladies  hands  cross. 

Gentlemen  join  hands  with  their  partners  ;  all  balancez. 

Turn  p>ortners  to  places. 

The  whole  of  the  Pastorelle  figure  as  in  the  first  set  ; 
cA  ornate  couple  advancing  on  each  side ;  promenade  all 
r*N,nd. 

[  When  the  dance  is  over,  Ptcdmond  leads  his  Lady  to 
a  seat — offers  her  refreshment,  &fc. 

Ber.  There  he  is,  all  in  his  glor}\  Oh,  Lord,  who'd 
take  him  for  a  thief! 

Red.  Well,  comrade,  how  do  you  get  on] — why  don't 
you  dance  ? 

Ber.  1  can't  dance — I  an't  in  spirits — I  an't  such  a  bold 
chap  as  you — I'm  afraid  they'll  know  me. 

R,ed.  Pshaw  !  make  yourself  agreeable,  as  I  do — 11! 
get  you  a  partner. 

Ber.  No,  no! 

Red.  But  I  say  yes,  yes — you  shall  dance.  [  To  a  La- 
dy, the  principal  dancer,   who   is  passing  at  the  7rw7ntnt.\ 


SoswE  L]  ROEFRT    MAC  AIRE.  23 

Mailemoiselle,  this  gentleman,  mv   noble  and   lUi'strioua 
friend,  is  desirous  of  dancing  the  next  dance  with  you. 
[  The  Lady  hoios — Redmond  pushes  Bertrand  far  ward 
— he  pj'ers  his  arm,  and  leads  her  to  the  front. 
Ber.  [Aside  to  Red.]  I  won't — oh,  my  poor  nei^es  !   [To 
Lad)/.]  Upon  ray  life,  you  are  very  handsome.   [A^ide.]  If 
the  gendarmes  were  to  see  me  now  ! 

[^'1    Gallopade  four  sides,   as  in  a   Quadrille,  hy  the 
Characters  and  Ballet 

Figure. 

All  chassez  croisez — ladies  to  tht  centre. 

Das  a  dos. 

Top  couples  lead  through  to  opposite  sides. 

Side  couples,  ditto. 

Top  couples  lead  hack  to  places. 

Side  couples,  ditto. 

Right  and  left  all  round. 

Follow  Bertrand  wherever  he  leads. 

[Be.rtra7id  dances  grotesquely — Redmond  stands  near 
the  Leader  and  directs  the  Dancf.rs,  calling  out  the 
figure,  h^c.  Towards  the  conclusion  he  seizes  the 
Violin  and  leads  the  Orchestra,  dancing  and  play' 
ing  with  extravagant  action  until  the  fall  of  the  Cur' 
tain. 

END    OF    ACT    I. 


ACT        II. 

Scene  I. —  The  Interior  of  an  Auherge.  A  Raised  Gah 
lery  from  t.  e.  to  r.  s.  e.,  with  two  Chambers  on  it, 
Nos.  12  and  13 — a  Staircase  leading  to  the  Gallery,  r. 
s.  E.  In  c.  ofF.,  a  large  high  practicahle  Window,  with 
Shutters  to  fasten  inside,  and  a  Door,  l,,  supposed  to 
he  the  Principal  Entrance  to  the  House.  The  hack- 
ground  remains  as  in  Act  I.  A  Door  on  each  side. — 
N.  B. —  The  Window- Shutters  are  closed  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  Act. — A  large  Tahle,  l.  s.  e.,  covered 
with  a  white  cloth. — A  Tahle  under  the  Gallery  for  the 
Gendarmes  to  place  their  Swards  and  Carbines  upon. 


$4  IIOBERT    MACAIKF,. 


[Act  fl, 


Music. — Bertkanu  roiriC3  cut  of  No.  13  in  great  alarm 
— ^cels  hi:i  way  domn  fJie  Staircase,  and  leans  against 
the  Balustrade.  Redmond,  with  a  quantity  of  Bank 
Notes  in  his  hand,  rushes  out  of  the  Room,  closes  the 
Door,  and  descends. 

Ber.  Oh,  my  poor  nerves  !  What  have  you  done!  I 
haven't    a  drop  of"  blood  in  my  veins  ! 

lied.  'Twas  unfortunate.  Necessity  has  no  law.  He 
would  have  alarmed  the  house.  [Counting  notes. 

Ber.  Come,  come — let  us  make  our  escape.  Dayhght 
will  soon  appear,  and  we  shall  be  discovered.  We've 
got  the  money  :   come,  come,  let  us  be  off. 

Red.  You  fool  !  our  flight  would  cause  us  to  be  sus- 
pected.    We  must  remain. 

Ber.  Remain  !  oh,  my  poor  nei-A^es  !  what  will  become 
of  me  ?  You  must  be  out  of  your  senses.  Hark!  [S?iud- 
deri?ig.\  I  hear  something  moving — some  one  walking  ! 
Come,  come,  let  us  be  off. 

[  Trying  to  force  Redmond  away. 

Red.  What  the  deuce  are  you  afraid  of?  Come  into 
our  chamber,  and  we'll  divide  the  money.  If  you  don't 
leani  to  be  more  of  a  man,  I'll  cut  your  acquaintance,  or 
your  throat,  one  of  these  days. 

[Pulling  him  off  through  door,  r.  f. 

Marie  ojicns  the.  door,^  No.  12 — appears  i?i  the  gallery,  and 
cautiously  descends  the  staircase.  The  daylight  begins 
gradually  to  he  seen  through  a  hole  at  the  top  of  the 
shutters. 

Marie.  No  one  is  up  yet.  The  moment  is  favourable  ; 
I  will  quit  the  inn  before  Mr.  Germeuil  awakes.  He  W4II, 
no  doubt,  seek  to  renew  his  examination,  and  I  have  not 
fortitude  to  bear  it.  Rather  than  cover  myself  with  shame, 
by  exposing-  my  wrongs  and  my  dis.grace,  I  will  quit  the 
house.     If  i  could  get  out  without  noise — 

[She  tries  to  open  the  door — -finds  it  is  loched. 

Enter  PiERKC,  with,  a  lighted  candle,  from  a  chamher  m 
the  gallery. 

Pierre.  It's  scarcely  daylight.  I  think  I'm  up  early 
this  morning  after  our  jollification.  [He  looks  over  the  ba- 
lustrades and  sees  Marie.\  Hollo!   what's  that  over  there? 


ScEWE  I.]  ROBERT    MACAIRi:.  26 

Oh  !  'tis  the  woman  we  gave  shelter  to  yesterday.  What 
the  devil  is  she  about  1  [Quietly  descends, 

Marie.  Unfortunate  !  I  cannot  open  the  door.  ^ 

Pierre.  Why  do  you  want  to  open  it  1 

Marie.  [Starti'ng.]  Ah  ! 

Pierre.  Where  do  you  wish  to  go  so  early  ?  I  thought 
you  promised  Mr.  Gcrmeuil  you  would  not  go  away  with- 
out speaking  to  him- 

Marie.  'Tis  true.  I  had  no  intention  of  going  away. 
1  merely  washed  to — to — [Co7ifused,] — to — to— -take  the 
air.  The  chamber  where  I  slept  was  so  small,  I  could 
scarcely  breathe. 

Pierre.  Indeed  !  now  do  you  know  I  think  it  is  as  airy 
and  comfortable  a  room  as  any  in  the  house.  But  be  that 
as  it  may,  we  don't  open  our  doors  until  master  and  all 
the  family  are  stining. 

Marie.  I  beg  pardon — 

Pierre.  [Aside.]  I  don't  half  like  this. — I  think  yon 
might  have  waited  until  you  were  called.  For  my  part, 
I  think  master  is  too  good-natured — he  gives  an  asylum 
to  eveiy  body,  and  often  takes  in  idle  people  who  ought 
to  work  for  their  living,  instead  of  depending  on  chanty. 

Marie.  [Weeping.]  Another  humiliation !  [She  takes 
out  her  pocket-handkerchief  to  wipie  away  her  tears,  and 
lets  Jail  the  purse  given  her  by  Germeuil. 

Pierre.  ->[  Taking  it  up.]  Hollo  !  what's  this  1  a  purse 
containing  gold ! 

Marie.  'Tis  mine  !  give  it  me  ! 

Pierre.  Ha  !  ha  !  it  seems,  then,  you  are  not  so  poor 
and  miserable  as  you  appear  to  be.  [Rctvrning  her  the 
f)urse.]  You  are  a  deep  one.  [He  blows  out  the  candle, 
then  goes  up  and  opens  the  shutters  and  the  iimidow.  Marie 
sits  at  a  table,  L.J  What  a  beautiful  morning!  T  say,  if 
you  want  a  mouthful  of  air,  put  your  head  out  of  the  win- 
dow— [Blowing.] — capital  fcir  the  lungs !  [A  large  bell  is 
heard  ringing  without.]  Hollo!  who  is  that  ringing  our 
gate  bell  so  early?  [Bell  rings  again.]  Don't  be  in  a  hur- 
ry— I'm  coming  !  [Opeiis  door  and  exit,L. 

Redmond  and  Bertrand  enter  from  their  room,  k. —  Bcr- 
trand  has  a  short  white  bed-gown,  a?/d  Redmond  an  old 
dressing  gown,  very  large  pattern,  and  a  handkerchief 


26  r^o^>c:?^T  ^iacajt.  ; 


ACT  n 


tied  around  his  head,   (he  ends  hanging  down   on   tht 
side. 

Ber.  Where  does  that  noise  come  from  ?  Oh,  my  poor 
nerves  !     Have  they  found  it  out  ah-eady  1 

Red.  No,  no,  you  reward!  [Seeing  Marie.\  Eh!  isn't 
that  the  woman  we  saw  last  night  ? 

Ber.  Yes. 

Red.  I  must  see  her  face  again  and  clear  up  ray  suspi- 
cions. [Advancing  towards  her  on  tip-toe — Bertrand  seats 
himself  on  the  stairs. 

Marie.  Fatal  is  the  impression  poverty  inspires — tho 
unfortunate  is  always  suspected- of  being  guilty  of  crimes. 

Red.  [Leaning  on  the  back  of  her  chair,  and  making  his 
snuff-box  crack.]  You  seem  unhappy,  my  good  woman ; 
what  is  the  cause  of  your  grief?  Come,  come — don't 
fear  to  trust  me,  for  sometimes,  when  we  least  suspect  it, 
we  may  find  ourselves  in  society  and  in  places  where  we 
are  known. 

Marie.  Oh,  heaven  !  do  you  know  me  ? 

Red.  I  didn't  say  that ;  nevertheless,  at  first,  the  sound 
of  your  voice,  the  contour  of  your  figure  and  features,  re- 
called to  me  a  certain  person  ]  Were  you  ever  at  Greno- 
ble ? 

Marie.  [Agitated.]  Grenoble  ! 

Red.  Yes.  I  lived  there  some  time — did  not  yo2i  also 
reside  there  ? 

Marie.  I! 

Red.  Yes — near  tlie  ■prison. 

Marie.  [Aside.]  Ah  !  I  am  known.     It  is  true,  that— 

Red.  It  is  true  that  it  is  true,  eh  ? 

Ber.  [Aside]  What  does  he  mean  by  all  these  ques 
tions  1     What  is  it  to  him  where  the  woman  has  lived  ? 

Red.  Did  you  know,  about  eighteen  or  nineteen  years 
ago,  a  person  called  Robert  Macaire  \ 

Marie.  Gracious  powers  !  what  name  have  you  pro- 
nounced ? 

Red.  That  of  your  husband — your — 

Marie.  Silence,  sir  !  repeat  not  the  name  of  a  monster 
who  has  embittered  my  days,  and  brougl-it  me  to  shame- 
to  misery,  and  ruin.  [Redmond  bursts  into  a  laugh,  takea 
a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  crosses  to  Bertrand. — Marie  ascend* 
tht  staircase,  and  enters  her  room. 


^      ,.{.  i   }  nOBERl    MACAIRE.  27 

Ked.  [To  Bertrand.\   'Tis  she  ! 

Ber.  What  she] 

Red.  My  wife ! 

Ber.  Your  wife  !  does  she  recollect  you  1 

Red.  No. 

Ber,  Glad  of  it — let  us  be  off. 

Red.  Stay — we'll  have  our  breakfast  first. 

Ber.  Breakfast !  I  can't  eat.  You  don't  consider  my 
ner\'es. 

Red.  Pshaw  !  never  mind  your  neiTes.  Take  my 
dressing-gown,  and  give  me  my  coat.  [  Takmg  off  dress- 
ing-gown, and  ai^pearing  in  a  very  ragged  sldrt?^  Hollo  ! 
[hooking  at  his  sleeves.]  I've  got  on  one  of  my  summer 
j-hirts — give  it  me  again.  [Bertrand  assists  him  on  with 
his  drcssijig-goivn.]  Now,  call  the  waiter. 

Ber.  But,  1  say — 

Jied.  Call  the  waiter  ! 

Ber.  Oh,  my  poor — we  shall  get  into  another  scrape. 
Waiter  !   waiter  !   waiter  ! 

Red.  [Taking  the  stage.\  Waiter!  waiter!  hollo!  hol- 
lo I 

Ber.  [Imitating.]  Waiter  1  waiter  !  hollo !  hollo  ! 

Enter  Pierre,  d.  f. 

Pierre.  Here  I  am,  gentlemen.  You  are  up  early- 
have  you  passed  a  bad  niofht? 

Exd.  Ob,  dear,  >io — quite  the  reverse,  I  assure  you. 

[Singing,  taking  S7iujf,  and  fiourisldng  his  pocJcet' 
handkerchief. 

Ber.  Quite  the  reverse — quite  the  reverse,  I  assure 
you.  [Imitating  with  torn  liandkerchicf. 

Pierre.  I  have  made  you  wait  a  little,  gentlemen,  be- 
cause I  was  engaged  putting  up  the  horses  of  some  guests 
who  have  just  anived — three  gendarmes. 

Ber.  [Starting.]  Gendarmes.     Oh,  my  poor  nerves  ! 

Pierre.  Holio !   yoiir  friend  seems  frightened. 

Red.  [Kicking  Bertrand.]  Fnghtenod  !  Oh,  no.  [Tak- 
ing  Pierre  aside.]  The  fict  is,  he  is  a  httle  touched  here 
in  the  upper  story,  and  I  frighten  him  with  the  name  of 
gendarme  as  they  do  cliildren  witli  that  oi   Bogie. 

Pierre.   Poor  fellow]   1  thought  ba  was  foohsh. 

Red.  You  musnrt  mhul  wliut  he  says.  Biing  us  our 
breakfast,  voung  man. 


2S  KCBKET     MACA1KF-.  [AcY  II 

Ficrrc.  Immediately.  [Exit,  L.  F. 

Bcr.  [Aside]  Now  I  shall  be  murdered ! 

Red.  [Seizing  Bert  rand  hy  the  collar,  and  dragging  Jam 
forward.]  You  infernal  rascal !  You  cowardly  villain,  do 
you  want  to  ruin  us  ? 

Ber.  No,  I  don't,  but — 

Red.  Be  quiet,  or  I'll  rcurder  you. 

[He  forces  him  into  the  room^  r. — jSIusic. 

Enter  Loupy,  Baton,  and  Flonflon,  d.  f.,  and^  Pierre 
L.  F.,  ^'ith  2^lates,  ^'C,  which  he 2jlaccs  on  the  table. 

Pierre.  Well,,  sergeant,  vour  horses  are  safe  in  the  sta- 
ble. 

Loupy.  Yes,  and  eating  their  breakfast.  Now,  it's  our 
turn.  Plen-e,  bring  us  some  ham  and  eggs,  and  the  best 
wine  in  the  house. 

Redmond  a/id  Bertrand,  u-ith  their  coats  on,  enter  from, 
their  roojn,  and  swagger  down  to  the  front. 

Pierre.  Immediately.  Have  the  kindness  to  sit  down 
here,  [Pointing  to  table,  l.]  You  can  breakfast  with  these 
gentlemen.  [Pointing  to  Red?nond  and  Bcrtrand. 

Ber.  [Aside.]  Breakfast  with  three  gendarmes !  Oh, 
my  poor  neiTes ! 

Red.  [Affecting  the  fashio)iahIe.]  We  shall  feel  honour- 
ed ! 

Lovpy.  [Exainining  Redmond  and  Bcrtrand.]  I  have 
seen  these  persons  somewhere.     Pierre  ! 

[Taking  him  aside. 

Bcr.  How  he  examines  us  !     Oh,  \n.y  poor  neiTes  ! 

Lonpy.  Oh.  I  recollect — I  saw  them  yesterday  on  tho 
ruad. 

Pierre.  They  are  very  respectable  gentlemen.  I  think 
they  belong  to  the  opera.  They  are  such  fine  S3!:!gers — 
the  tall  one  in  particular. 

[Redmond  sings  a  verse  of  an  Italian  song,  in  iinita- 
tion  <f  Riiljlni — puts  his  hands  on  his  coat  pockets, 
and  goes  up,  showing  a  large  j^atch  on  7eis  trowscr.t. 

Pierre.  He  can  do  anything  with  his  voice. 

Loupy.  He  can  ?  then  I  vronder  he  doesn't  make  it  gel 
him  a  neV  p?ir  of  trowsers.  [Retired  up. 

Red.   [Asid<.'  to   Bcrtrand.]   *Tis   the  sergcrait  who   exa» 


gcEtrr.  I.]  ROBEr.T    MACAIRE.  29 

mined  us  so  closely  yesterday.  Impudence  alone  can 
save  us.  Do  something  to  make  liim  believe  you  are  silly. 
Sing- — dancv — do  anything.  [Redmond  sings  (mother  versa, 
and  Bert.rand  dances — he  makes  an  extravagant  pirouette, 
Uiunhles  against  Redmond  and  knocks  him  down — Pierre 
and  the  Gendarmes  lift  them  up — Redmond  heats  and  kicks 
at  Bertrand.]  Oh,  you  blackguard!  Oh,  you  thief!  you 
rascal ! 

Ber.  I  couldn't  help  it  !   I  couldn't  help  it ! 

Pierre.  Breakfast  is  ready,  gentlemen. 

Lovp//.  Yv'ill  you  sit  down,  sir?  [To  Redmnnd. 

Red.   With  the  greatest  pleasure.     After  you. 

(  They  ho'v  with  great   ceremony  and  seat  themselves, 
Redmond,  r.,  and  houpy,  l.      The  other  Gendarmes 
take  off  their   sivords,    c^c.        Bert  rand  remains  in 
front,  R. 
LoWpy.   Does  not  your  friend  breakfast  with  us? 
Red.  Oh,  certainly.  [  Takes  a  pinch  of  snvjf,  and  makes 
his  box  crack — Bertrand  starts?^  Bertrand,  my  dearfi-iend. 
come  to  breakfast. 

Ber.  No  I  thank  you,  I'm  not  hungry.  I  want  to  go 
into  the  fields  to  hear  the  dickey-birds  sing. 

[Going — Redmand  stops  hi?n. 
Red,  [Aside.]  If  you  dare  to  stir  a  step  I'll  murder  you 
— [Aloud.]   Now  do  sit  down. 

Ber.  [Aside.]  Oh,  my  poor  neiTes  ! — [A/oud.]  I'd  ra- 
ther nf>t. — [Aside.]  Oh,  these  devils  of  gendarmes  ! 

Red.  [Aside — jmshing  him  into  a  seat.]  You  fool,  sit 
down. 

Ber.  Oh,  my  ])oor  nen'es  ! 

[Sits  down,  c. —  The  two  Gendarmes   seat   themselves 
on  c^ch  side  of  him — he  starts — looks  from  one  to 
the  other,  trembles,  S^x.     Redmond  makes  his  snuff- 
box crack. 
Red.  You   must   not   mind  my  friend,  gentlemen — ^1)0 
stands  too  much  upon  ceremony.     Come,  Mr.  Pierre,  you 
must  di'ink  with  us. 

Pierre.  Thank  you,  sir — I  never  dnnk  in  the  morning, 
but  to  oblige  you  I'iltake  a  thimble-full.  [Fills  a  large 
glass  and  drinks.]  I  don't  care  if  I  take  a  small  taste  of 
bread  and  ham.  [Cuts  a  large  piece  of  bread,  takes  a  slice 
of  ham,  and.  eats  roraclously.]  It  is  some  time  since  I  have 
6oen  you,  Mr,  Loupy. 


30  ROBERT    MACAir.K.  [  iCT  II 

Loiipij.  Why,  yes,  the  country  is  so  quiet ;  and  if  it 
had  not  been  for  two  rascally  thieves,  who  have  escaped 
from  prison — \  Bertrand  fj^.arts  and  h*'.gins  to  cough  violent- 
hj — the  two  Gendarmes  think  he  is  choaking,  and  clap  him 
on  the  back.  He  endeavours  to  rise — theij  force  him  down 
— he  struggles  to  get  away,  dreadfully  alarmed. 

Bcr.  Oh,  my  poor  nerves!  thank  you — thank  you,  gen- 
tlemen.    A  piece  of  ham  went  the  wrong  way — 

lied.  From  what  prison  have  the  rascals  escaped? 

Ber.  [Aside.]  Oh,  lord  !     Curse  his  impudence  ! 

Loupy.  The  prison  of  Lyons  ! 

Ber.  We  are  dished  !  [Slips  doitm  under  the  tahle. 

houpy.   [After  a  pause.]  Hollo!  vrhere  is  your  fiiend  ? 

Red.  Bertiand  I  13ertrand  !  [Finding  he  does  not  appear 
or  answer,  he  viakes  his  snnff-hox  crack — Bcrtrand  shows 
himself  under  the  tahle.]  What  the  devil  are  you  doing 
there  ? 

Ber.  I'm  looking  foi*  my  tooth-pick. 

Red.  Come  rmt !  [Pulling  him  from  under  the  tahle, 
and  tl trowing  him  into  r.  corner. 

Ber.     Oh,  my  poor  nerves  !     I  couldn't  stand  it. 

Red.  And  what  has  become  of  the  rascals  ? 

Lioupy.  'Tis  suspected  they  have  taken  refuge  some- 
wliere  in  this  neighbourhood.  [Rising  and.  going  forivard.] 
I  wish  I  could  put  my  hands  on  them — [Placing  his  hand 
on  the  shoulders  of  Redmond  and  Bcrtrand,] — the  rascals 
would  find  it  rather  difficult  to  shake  me  off. 

Red.  [Forcing  a  laugh.]  I  should  thin'k  so.  Ha  !  ha  ! 
ha! 

Ber.  Oh,  my  poor  neiTes  !  [Trying  to  laugh.]  Ha  !  ha  ! 
ha! 

Loupy.  Come,  gentlemen,  we  must  be  going. 

Red.  Nay,  gentlemen,  don't  go  yet.  I  really  cannot 
part  with  you  so  soon. 

Ber.  [Aside.]  Curse  his  impudence  !  He'll  persuade 
them  to  stay.     Oh,  you  fool !      Oh,  my  poor  neiTes  ! 

Loupy.  You  are  very  polite,  but  1  must  attend  to  my 
duty.     Pierre,  what  have  I  to  piy  ' 

Pici^re.  Three  francs  and  a  half 

■  Loupy.  [Tdhing  out  a  purse  and  giving  him  money.] 
There!   [To  Redmond.]   8ir,  your  most  obedienf. 

[R^tarns purse  into  his  co-rtt por.lrf — Rrdmond  steaU  it. 


ScEWE  r.]  IROBEKT  macaire.  31 

Red.  Well,  if  you  must  go,  I  suppose  you  must.  Pierre, 
some  wine  !  one  glass  at  parting. 

[Pierre  Jills  glasses. — Lou])]/,  Redmond,  Bertrand, 
Pierre,  and  Gendarmes  sh^nd  togctJier^  and  hoh  and 
noh — Pierre  and  Gendarmes  go  off,  Redmond  shakes 
hands  with  Loupy,  and  bows  him  off  in  great  cere' 
TTiony, 

Ber,  \ After  watching  ih€7n  off.]  Tol  lol  de  rol  161.  [Dan- 
'Ting.]  They  are  off!  Tol  lol  de  rol  lol! 

Red.,  Bertrand,  what  dc^you  think  of  me,  now?  Didn't 
I  deceive  the  gendarmes  Aamously  !  They  are  fine  jolly 
felloVs,  capital  companions,  are  they  not  ? 

Ber.  Capital — but  I'd  rather  have  their  room  than  their 
company. 

Red.  I'll  tell  you  what,  my  good  friend,  it's  no  use  dis- 
guising one's  opinion — the  fact  is,  you  are  a  down-right 
fool.  You  have  several  times  been  on  the  veiy  point  of 
betraying  us.  Now,  understand  me — if  you  don't  alter 
your  conduct,  I'll  do  myself  the  pleasure  of  cutting  your 
throat. 

Ber.  Will  you  1     I  won't  give  you  a  chance. 

Red.  Now,  then,  let  us  return  to  our  chamber.  Call 
PieiTe,  and  pay  the  bill. 

Ber.  Pay  the  bill!  Noi/sense,  my  dear  fellow!  We 
have  no  occasion  to  do  that — we  never  pay. 

Red.  Why,  you  unprincipled  rascal!  would  you  go 
away  without  paying  your  bill  1 

Ber.  Why  not? 

Red.  A  pretty  n*ime  we  should  leave  behind  us.  They'd 
call  us  swindlers.     Pie'iTe,  bring  our  bill. 

Pierre.  Immediately,  sir. 

Red.  And  don't  forget  the  bread  and  cheese. 

Ber.  Yes,  and  don't  forget  the  ingun. 

[Redmond  pushes  hhyi  into  the  room,  l. — Music, 

Enter  Villagers,  o.,  with  Pierre. 

Pierre.  You've  come  rather  early,  friends  ;  but  I  dare 
say,  the  bride  and  bridegi'oom  are  ready  to  go  with  you 
to  church. 

Enter  Charles,  Clementine,  and  Dumont,  l. — Mar« 
coTTM^  out  of  her  room,  and  mufiov-sly  descsnd^  *kt  stair 


3S  KOBliRT    MACAinn.  |-A,C7  fl. 

Chas.  We  only  wait  for  IMr.  Germeuil's  friends — wa 
arc  quite  ready. 

Dumonf.  He  sleeps  rather  late  this  m.  ming.  We'll 
give  liim  a  few  ininutes  longer,  and  then,  if  he  doesn't 
make  his  a})pearance,  we'll  wake  him. 

Chas.  It  must  he  nearly  eight  o'clock.  I  wonder  he 
is  not  up. 

Marie.  No  one  observes  me.     Now  to  escape. 

[She  steals  round  at  the  had:,  and  is  about  to  exit  at 
the.  doer,  iv^ien  she  is  met  hij  Loupij  and  the  Goi- 
danncs,  who  look  inquisitively  at  her  as  she  .passe* 
— she  goes  ojf  over  the  bridge. 

Chas.  Ah,  Sergeant  Loupy,  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  What 
brings  you  so  far  from  head  quarters  % 

Ijou'py.  I  am  in  pursuit  of  two  thieves,  who  have  es- 
caped from  the  prison  at  Lyons.  I  breakfasted  here  this 
moiTiing,  and  have  returned  for  my  purse,  which  I  must 
have  dropped  somewhere.     IMerie,  have  you  seen  it  ? 

'Pierre.  No  ;  I  saw  it  in  your  Irand  when  you  paid  me, 
but  not  since. 

Ijoupy.  Help  me  to  look  for  it — 1  dare  s-ny  it's  not  far 
oft.  [  They  search. 

Dumont.  Charles,  you  had  better  go  up  to  Mr.  Ger- 
meuil.  [Charles  ascends  the  staircase.]  Perhaps  he  is  ill. 
*Tis  very  odd!     I  th(<fe-^ht  he  was  an  early  riser. 

Chas.  [Listcjiing  at  GermeuiVs  door,  and  trying  to  open 
it.]  Ah  !  I  think  I  hear  groans  !  the  door  is  locked  ! 

Dumont.  Indeed  !  Pierre,  you've  the  bunch  of  dupli- 
cate keys — give  me  No.  13. 

Pierre.  Yes,  sir.  [Looking  over  the  bunch.]  It's  very 
odd — it  isn't  here. 

Chas.  Then  I'll  break  open  the  door. 

[Cl*'vientine  runs  up  the  staircase — Charles  breaks 
open  the  door,  and  enters  the  room  with  Cleinentine 
— loud  scream  heard. 

Dumont.  Gracious  powers  !  What  has  befallen  i 

Cle.  [Rushing  distracted  down  staircase.]  Oh,  Mr.  Du- 
mont !  my  poor  iather  is  murdered  ! 

[General  start  of  horror. 

Omnes.  Murdered  ! 

C>fias.  Oh,  horrible  crime !  Mr.  Germeuil  is  covered 
with  wounds,  and  weltcvinji  in  his  blood. 


SCCTTE  I.]  R03F.V.T    MACATRE.  33 

[The  Villagers  ^0  up  the  staircase,  and cnUr  the  room 
— Clementine  wishes  to  follow,  hut  is  j^rcventcd  hy 
two  women,  in  whose  arms  she  faints  and  is  taken 

'  off,  L. 

Loujrij.  Dreadful!  had  he  any  enemies '? 

Dumoiit.  None,  I  am  certain — he  lived  but  to  do  good. 

Chas.  No  doubt  he  has  been  the  victim  of  villains,  who 
have  robbed  him.  Here  is  his  empty  pocket-book,  which 
I  found  on  the  ground  beside  him. 

Loupij.  Do  you  suspect  any  one  ? 

Dumo7it.  No. 

Fierre.  But  I  do.  I  suspect  the  person  to  whom  you 
gave  shelter  last  night. 

Loujiy.  What,  a  poor  looking  woman,  in  a  dark  dress  ? 

Picrrt.   Yes, 

Lioup.-;.  I  saw  her  go  out,  just  now. 

Pierre.  Let  her  Ke  pursued  !  [Loupt/  signs  to  one  of  the 
Gendarmes,  who  exits,  in  p?irsuit,  oi-er  the  bridge.]  I  saw 
lier  trying  to  leave  the  house  early  this  morning.  I  saw 
a  purse  of  gold  in  her  possession. 

Dfunont.  Indeed  1  there  certainly  is  cause,  then,  foi 
suspicion. 

Loupy.  It  is  my  duty  to  investigate  the  business.  Place 
yourself  there — [  Tb  Ge?f,dar?ne,] — and  take  down  the  evi- 
dence.— [  To  Pierre.]  Was  this  woman  the  only  stranger 
who  passed  the  night  here  1 

Pierre.  No,  sir ;  there  were  two  more  travellers — those 
gentlemen  with  whom  you  breakfasted. 

Laupy.   Let  them  be  called. 

Pierre.  Yes,  sir.  [Crossing  to  c. — Bawling  and  knock- 
ing.] Hollo  !  hollo  ;  gentlemen,  you  are  wanted. 

Red.  [  Within.]  What's  the  matter  1  Who  knocks  at 
my  door  in  such  a  furious  manner  ? 

Redmoxd  enters  loith  Bertrand. 

Ah,  Mr.  Pierre  ! 

Pierre.  The  officer  of  the  gendaiines  wishes  to  speak 
with  you. 

Ber.  [Aside.]  We  are  discovered  !  It  is  all  over  with  , 
us.     Wo  are  dead  and  buried!  Oh,  my  poor  nerves  ! 

Red.  Oh,  my  esteemed  friend  and  breakfast  companion 
— what  is  the  matter  ? 


34  ROBERT    MACAIRE.  [Act  II. 

Loupy.  A  murder  lias  been  committed  in  the  house. 

Bcr.  [Aside]  Oh,  my  poor  neiTes  !   We  are  settled. 

Red.  [Pretending  to  start  with  astonishment,  hits  Bcr- 
trand  in  the  face  icith  his  hat. — Aside.]  Be  quiet. — Who 
is  the  unfortunate  victim  1 

Dumont.  Mr.  Germeuil. 

Red.  I  recollect  him  well.  [  To  Bcrtrand.]  The  old  gen- 
tleman we  saw  here  Iftst  night,  with  cotton  stockings,  pep- 
pei-  and  salt  coat,  and  parsley  and  butter  waistcoat. 

Jjoupy.  Your  passports — 

Red.  Certainly — there  is  mine.  [Giving  a  paper.]  No, 
I  be.^  pardon — that  is  a  letter  from  a  little  countess — a 
lovely  creature  !  That  is  it — no,  that's  my  tailor's  bill — 
that  is  it. 

Loupy.  [Examining  passports.]  You  are  called — 

Red.  [Bowing.]  Yes. 

houpy.  Your  name  is — 

Red.  [Bowing.]  Yoa  are  right,  it  is — - 

Loupy.  I  ask  your  name. 

Red.  Henri  Frederick  Louis  de  Tour  de  Main,  de  la 
Chateau  Margot,  de  la  Tonnerre  Saint  Redmond,  Ambas- 
sador to  the  King  of  the  Kickeraboo  Islands,  and  Knight 
of  the  Ancient  Order  of  the  Kefousels.       [Crosses  to  r. 

Loupy.  [Crossi?ig  to  Bertrand.]  Now,  sir,  your  passport. 
— ^liave  you  one  1 

Bcr.  [Aside.]  Oh,  my  poor  nerves !  Now  for  it !  I  am 
.melting  away  Hke  a  rush-light. 

Red.  The  gentleman  does  you  the  honour  to  ask  for 
your  passport. 

Ber.  [To  Loupy.]  Why,  I  showed  it  you  yesterday. 

Red.  What  does  that  matter?  Isn't  the  gentleman  in 
the  exercise  of  his  functions  ! 

Ber.  [Aside.]  Curse  his  functions  !  I  wish  he  wouldn't 
exevcise  them  on  me. 

Red.  He  has  a  right  to  interrogate  you,  -dnd— [Pointed- 
ly,] you  have  no  right  to  answer  him. 

Ber.  There  !  [Lets  a  paper  fall. — Aside.]  That's  the  du- 
plicate of  a  pair  of  trowsers — that's  ray  other  shirt — there 
jt  is —  [Giving passports. 

Loupy.  You  are  called- — 

Ber.  Bertrand. 

Loupy.  [Looking  over  passport.]  And  how  are  you — 

Bcr.  Prcttv  well,  I  thank  vou — how  are  you  1 


t.-a..      '  ]  nOBF.RT    MACAIUK.  35 

Loupy.  Pshaw  !  ^  mean  how  are  you  described — wliat 
is  your  profession  ? 

Ber.  An  oi"phaii. 

Loupy.  I  ask^  what  is  your  profession  \ 

Ber.  I  tell  you,  an  oi-phan.     I'm  a  natural. 

Red.  [Crossing  to  Loupy.]  I  beg  pardon,  hnt  my  friend 
is  not  in  his  right  senses — he  is  deranged  at  times — a  little 
cracked — half  an  idiot. 

Lotipy.  He  seems  so.  Your  papers  are  all  regular — 
all  correct.  [Gendarme  appears  at  the  back  with  Marie — 
he   brings  her  over  the  bridge. 

Red.  Then,  I  suppose  we  may  continue  our  journey. 

Loupy.  No — you  must  not  go  until  the  inquest  is  over. 
No  one  must  leave  the  house  till  then — 

Ber.  Oh,  n..y  poor  nerves  !   We  are  in  for  it  again  ! 

Enter  Gendarme  with  Marie,  r.  d.  in  f. 

Marie.  In  the  name  of  Heaven  what  do  you  want  with 
me  ? — Why  am  I  brought  here  ? 

Dumont.  Approac-h,  unhappy  woman,  and  let  us  hear 
if  you  can  exculpate  yourself  from  the  dreadful  crime  of 
which  you  are  accused  ? 

Marie.  What  mean  you?  Accused!  Gracious  heaven  ! 
what  crime  do  you  lay  to  my  charge  ? 

Dmnont.  Mr.  Germeuil  has  been  murdered  ! 

Marie.  [  Wildly.]  And  am  I  suspected  of  being  his 
murderer? 

Dumont.  You  are. 

Red.  [Aside\  How  fortunate. 

Marie.  I  am  lost !      [Covering  her  fact  with  her  hands. 

Dumont.  What  have  you  to  say,  wretched  woman,  in 
your  defence  ]     Do  you  confess  the  deed  ? 

Marie.  [Wildly ?\  Confess!  confess  what?  that  I  have 
deprived  a  fellow-creature  of  life  1  that  I  am  a  murderess? 
'Tis  beyond  belief — 'tis  too  horrible  to  be  real !  Recal 
those  cruel  words  !  Ah,  you  are  silent — 'tis  no  illusion, 
then.  You  do  accuse  me  !  Oh,  sir — good  gentlemen,  do 
not  let  appearances  or  circumstances  condemn  me.  I 
swear  before  Heaven,  I  am  innocent !  You  may  doubt 
my  words — but  look  upon  me ;  the  truth  is  written  here, 
on  ihis  pallid  brow  and  care-worn  cheeks,  these  streaming 
eyes,  these  feeble  hands,  which  now  I  rnisc  to  you  in  ago- 
ny of  soul,  for  justice  and  for  rncrcy  ' 


36  ROBERT    MACVTR^.  [Act  II 

Dumont.  Rir.e — nse,  unfortunate  woman  !  I  pity  you, 
but  am  sorry  to  say  suspicion  is  strongly  against  your  in- 
nocence. 

Pierre.  How  did  you  come  by  the  j^rse  you  let  fall 
this  morning  ? 

Marie.  'Twas  given  me  by  Mr.  Germeuil. 

Dumont.  Indeed  !  and  for  what  purpose  ? 

Ber.  Ah,  for  what  purpose  1 

Red.  [Striking  him.]  H(.»ld  your  tongue  ! 

Marie.  He  gave  it  me  in  charity,  as  an  earnest  of  liis 
future  bounty. 

Dumont.  How  much  money  did  the  purse  contain  1 

Marie.  Four  Louis.  I  have  not  touched  them — liere 
they  are.  [Takes  out  purse. 

Dumont.  Woman — woman,  this  last  evidence  is  conclu- 
sive. No  one,  would  give  so  large  a  sum  withoiit  first  be- 
ing acquainted  with  the  person  on  whom  it  was  bestowed. 

Loapy.  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  her  guilt.  Arrci>t 
her.  [To  Gtndarmcs. 

Red.  [Aside]  We  are  safe  ? 

Ber.  Let  us  be  off! 

Marie.  Save  me  !  save  me!  I'm  innocent!  Do  not — 
oh.  do  not  murder  me  ! 

Lioupi).  Your  name  \ 

Marie.  Marie  Beaumont ! 

Dumont.  [Starting.]   Is  that  your  name  ? 

Marie.  Alas  !   ye§,  sir. 

Dumont.  [Rapidli/.]   Have  you  any  children  '? 

Marie.  I  had  a  son. 

Dumont.   What  became  of  him  ? 

Marie.  I  know  not.  Cruel  necessity  obliged  me  to 
abandon  him,  nineteen  years  ago,  at  an  inn,  on  the  "oad 
to  Grrenoble. 

Dumont.  Did  you  ever  live  at  Grenoble  ? 

Marie.  Yes,  sir  ;  many  years  ago. 

Dii77iont.  You  were  detained  in  prison  there  ? 

Marie.  Oh,  sir  !   do  you  know — 

Dumont.  You  were  accused,  as  you  now  are  ? 

Marie.  I  was,  but  an  I  am  now — I  was  innocent.  But 
why  these  questions  ?  do  you  kn;5W  anything  of  my  f^on  / 
Do  not  tonure  me  I      'V:^\\  mo — tell  me,  i3  be  still  ahve  t 

Dumont.  Ho-  is  : 


Scene  !.J  ROBEUT    MACAIRFT.  37 

Marie.  Thank  heaven  !     Where  is  he  ? 
C/ias.  Here,  mother,  here  !       [Rushing  into  her  arms. 
M-aric.  Yes !  yes,  he  Is  my  son  !  my  heart  knows  him. 
Chas.  Mother  !  dear  mother  ! 

[Retires  up  with  Marie. — Redmond,  who,  during  this 
S9cnc,  has  became  deephj  interested,  wipes  a  tear  from 
?iis  eye^  takes  a  pinch  of  snitff,  then  relapses  into  his 
usual  heartless  manner,  picks  up  a  j)ochet-?iandher- 
chief   which    Charles  drops   when   he   embraces  his 
mother — -jlourishes  it  about,  and  makes  his  box  creak. 
Red,  [To  Bcrtra7id.]   'Tis  my  son. 
Ber.  You  have  found  all  your  family  here. 
Marie.  My  s»)n — my  dear  son  !  [Caressing  him. 

Chas.  Dear  mother,  at  v/hat  a  moment  do  I  find  you. 
Marie.  Be  comforted — Heaven  will  not  desert  me. 
Jjoupy.  Madam,  you  must  follow  me. 
Chas.  Ah,  sir,  she  is  my  mother  ! — do  not  take  her  from 
me  !     I  will  answer  for  her  appearance.     Let  her  remain 
with  Mr.  Dumont,  while  we  employ  every  means  in  our 
power  to  fiud  the  real  murderer — for  I  am  sure  she  is  in- 
nocent. 

Lot/py.  I  scarcely  dare  tiiist  you. 

[  They  go  up  together  consulting. 

Enter  Baguette  and  Fusee,  d.  in  f.,  and  gives  a  paper  to 
Loupy. 

Red.  [Advancing  vnth  Brrtrand.]  I  try  to  be  indifferent 
and  callous,  but  I  still  feel  my  heart  beat  and  yearn  to 
embrace  nw  son.  I  dare  not  own  him — yet  I  should  like 
to  feel  his  hand  in  mine.  Ah  !  this  i.s  his  handkerchief — 
I'll  return  it. to  him.  Here  is  your  pocket-handkerchief^ 
sir,  which  you  let  fall  just  now.  [Seizing  his  hand  and 
^.squeezing  it.]  Charles — I  beg  your  pardon — Mr.  Charles, 
I  congratulate  you  on  finding  your  mother. 

[Charles  goes  up. 

Ber.  [Taking  R.edmond  by  the  arm.]  Wow,  then,  let  us 
be  off. 

Loupy.  Secure  these  men. — [Pointing  to  Bert-rand  ana 
Rcdmoni.      The  Gendarmes  seize  them. 

Red.  Secure  us  !  for  what  1 

Loupy.  For  having  escaped  from  the  prison  at  Lyona 
I  have  liere  a  full  de'scription  of  your  persons.  One  of 
yju  travels  under  the  naint*  of  Bertrand— " 


38  ROBKRT    MACAIRB.  [Act  II 

Ber.  Oh,  my  poor  nei*ves — that's  me  ! 
JLoupy.  And  the  other  under  the  name  of  Redmond-— 
but  the  first  is  no  oth<?r  than   Jacques  Strop,  and   the   se- 
cond Robert  Macaire. 

Marie.  Macaire  !  did  I  hear  aright  1  [Redinond' s  face 
is  concealed  with  a  black  handkerchief- — Lottpy  jiulU  it  of.] 
*Tis  he  !  'tis  my  husband!  [Fai?its. 

Red.  Subterfuge  is  useless.  'Tis  true,  I  am  Robert 
Macaire. 

Ber.  And  I  am  Jacques  Strop  ! 
Loupy.  Away  with  them  ! 

[Baguette  and  Fusee  force  Ber  tr  and  off. 
Ber.  Oh,  my  poor  nerves  !     This  is  my  Jast  kick  ! 
Peed.  Stay  a  moment — [To  Baton  and    Flonfon,  who 
are  ahnut  to  take  him  awa^/.] — I  have  something  to  say. 
Sergeant   Loupy,  Robert  Tiacaire  lias  lived  a  bold  and 
fearless  man,  and  such  he'll  die  ! 

[  With  a  sudden  effort  of  strength,  he  throws  down  the 
two  Gendarmes  who  have  hold  of  him,  rushes  up  the 
stage,  jumps  out  of  tree  wi?idow,  runs  up  the  platform, 
and  gains  the  bridge,  waving  his  hand  in  dvfiance. 
Loupy.  He  will  escape  !  fire  at  him  ! 

[  The  Gendarmes  fire  out  of  the  window — Redmond 
falls  on  the  bridge,  with  his  arms  hanging  over  it — 
Tableau. 
Marie.  Ah  !   they  have  killed  him  !     Unfortunate  man  ! 
he  was  doomed  to  die  a  desperate  death  ! 

[The  Ge?iJarmes  take  up  Redmond,  and  bri?ig  him 
to  the  front  of  the  stage. 
Red.  'Twas  too  late  !  yet  'twas  a  chance  for  life  !  I 
risked  it  bravely.  Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha  !  [Laughing  wildly.]  I 
have  foiled  you,  villains — I  shall  die  llk(?  a  man,  and  not 
by  the  hand  of  an  executioner.  I  am  growing  faint  -my 
senses  are  leaving  me — Marie,  INIarlo  !  come,  come  to  me 
— [*S7^e  kneels.]  Where  are  you  \  [Looking  at  her.]  Can 
you  forgive  me?  [She  throws  her  arms  round  him.]  Thank 
you,  thank  you — Heaven  has  avenged  you.  Ah,  while  life 
remains,  let  me  do  an  act  of  justice.  [To  Loupy.]  She  is 
innocent  of  the  murder  of  Mr.  Germeuil ;  'twas  I  that 
did  it;  you  will  find  upon  me  the  twelve  thousand  francs. 
Appioach,  young  man — [To  Charles,] — Give  me  your 
hand ;'  be  kind  to  your  poor  mother — and  pardon,  pardon 
your  guilty,  inhuman  father.  [Dies. 


THE    MINOR  DRAMA. 


VOL     I. 

The  Irish  Attorney. 
Boots  at  the  Swan. 
How  to  Pay  tue  Rent. 
The  Loan  of  a  Lover. 
The  Dead  Shot. 
His  Last  Legs. 
The  Invisible  Prince. 
The  GoMen  Faimei. 


With  a   Pori.rait  and 
MR.  JOHN  SEKTON. 


Memoir  of 


VOL  n. 
9.  The  Pride  of  the  Market. 

10.  Used  Up. 

11.  The  Irish  Tutor. 

12.  The  Barrack  Rt»om. 

13.  Luke  the  Laborer. 

14.  Beauty  and  the  Beast. 

15.  St.  Patrick's  Eve. 

16.  Captain  of  the  Watch. 
With  a  Portrait  and    Memoir 

MISS  C.  WEMYSS. 


of 


VOL   III. 

17.  The  Secret. 

18.  White  Horse  of  the  Peppers. 

19.  The  Jaeouite. 

20.  The  Bottle. 

21.  Box  and  Cox. 
2:^.  Bamboozling. 

23.  Widow's  Victim. 

24.  Rrbert  Macaire. 

With    a   Portrait  and  Memoir    of 
MR.  F.  8.  CHANFRAU 

VOL.     IV. 

25.  Secret  Service. 
20.  Oraniijus. 

27.  Irish  Lion. 

28.  Maid  of  Croissey. 

29.  The  Old  Guard. 

30.  Raising  the  Wind. 

31.  Slasher  and  Crasher. 

32.  Naval  Engagements. 

With  a  Portrait    and    Memoir  of 
MISS  ROSE  TELBIN. 

VOL    V. 

33.  Cocknies  in  California. 

34.  Who  Speaks  First. 

35.  Borabastes  Furioso. 

36.  Macbeth  Travestie. 

Price  12  1-2   Cents  each.- 


37.  The  Irish  Ambassador. 

38.  Delicate  Ground. 

39.  The  Weatliercock. 

40.  All  that  (iiitters  is  not  Gold. 
With  a  Poi-trait    and    Memoir  of 

MR.  W.  A.  GOOD  ALL. 


VOL    VI. 

41.  Grimshaw,   Bagshaw  and   Brad- 
shaw. 

42.  Rough  Diamond. 

43.  Bloomer  Costume. 

44.  Two  Bonnycastlea. 

45.  Born  to  Good  Luck. 

46.  Kiss  in  tlie  Dark. 

47.  'Twould  Puzzle  a  Conjuror. 

48.  Kill  or  Cure. 

With  a    Portrait   and  Memok  of 
F.  M.  KENT. 

VOL.    VII. 

49.  Box  and  Cox  Married  and  Settled. 

50.  St.  Cu])id. 

51.  Go-to  bed  Tom. 

52.  The  Lawyers. 

53.  Jack-Sheppard. 

54.  The  Tnofiies. 

55.  The  Mobcap. 
50.  Ladies  Beware. 

With  a    Portrait  and  Memoir   of 
MR.  J.  E.  OWENS. 


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The  scene  is  laid  in  Ireland,  aborft  tEe  Fifteentli  Century. 
The  charaeters  that  figure  in  the  -  Play  are  :  James  Lynch 
FiTZSTEPHEN,  MayoF  of  Galway  ; ; Walter  Lynch,  his  Son  ; 
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